Emperor of Zero
by Nietzchian
Summary: When a former French Emperor is summoned by a pink-haired girl, the history of Helgekinia is forever changed.
1. The Beginning

"The men…will obey…me!"

"No, my emperor. The men will obey their generals. That is how war is always conducted."

The eyes of the Emperor Napoleon widened in shock. It had not occurred when he had realized that his Grand Army was doomed in the wastelands of Russia. For the two years after that defeat, he had resisted as all of Europe, _his_ Empire, had risen up, against the principles of the Revolution and French supremacy. Now, in the year of 1814, Paris had fallen at their combined hands. Englishmen, Spaniards, Russians, Germans, and Austrians, all of them had united to finally defeat the man whom they viewed as a madman, a conqueror who endlessly sought blood, and he had still nearly won.

Defeat in Russia had not stunned him. The loss of Paris had not either – these were setbacks, temporary, and he knew that he would have a way to regroup and reach for his destiny among the stars. But now, his marshals, men whom had fought with him for at least a decade, were telling him that it was over.

The Emperor sighed and glanced out the window. He had retreated to the palace of Fontainebleau, an ancient and decrepit castle that he had renovated shortly after his coronation. It was in this place that he found himself cornered.

Michel Ney, one of the marshals whom had been standing across from Napoleon, cleared his throat, treating the silence of his master as a signal to continue.

"It is not just us. The Senate has clearly indicated that you will not be able to rule. They have voted the creation of a new government, led by Talleyrand. They are calling you a criminal, for implementing excessive taxes and using conscription to bleed our young men out in faraway lands."

"Talleyrand?"

Napoleon's eyes had originally been scheming with an air of desperation, like a chess player desperately finding a way for his king to escape checkmate. But now they flared up with hostility, and his voice dripped with rage.

"I should have had that worm assassinated at least five years ago - Europe would have remained mine if not for that simple step. But the Senate? What business do they have calling me a criminal? They backed me every step as I implemented those laws and never murmured a word of opposition. None of them would have power if it wasn't for me. If I am a tyrant and have betrayed the Revolution by spreading it throughout Europe, then they are also equally guilty."

Ney remained silent to these statements. Perhaps Napoleon was right. It was not for him to decide, and it changed nothing about the fact that the Emperor must abdicate. And everyone in the room knew it as silence reigned for the next few minutes.

"Very well."

Napoleon sighed and rose up from his seat.

"I will abdicate, to save my Empire and France. But my son will retain control, with the Empress as regent. Go, inform the Allies of this proposition, and leave me alone. I will compose my memorandum to leave the throne."

As the marshals departed, Napoleon looked around at his study. Fontainebleau may have been the creation of the great Valois king, Francis I, but he had never been one for personal extravagance. It was a sparse room, filled only with that which he deemed necessary. Now he sat at his desk and began to write a letter, the letter that would be the end of his Empire. Napoleon was no fool after all – even if he had ordered his marshals to state that he would abdicate in favor of his son, he would be shocked if the Allies actually accepted those conditions. The boy would never be a ruler, but would probably be raised by his wife's Austrian father, while he himself would live out his days in jail or exile. Meanwhile, the Bourbons, those fat slobs who had ruined France and had acted like the world belonged to them from the moment of their birth, would come back as Europe and would lie around, doing nothing. The thought of what they would do to the land in which he had resided for most of his life utterly disgusted Bonaparte, but now there was nothing he could do.

He idly tugged at the pouch draped around his neck. It was filled with poison, something which he had obtained as he retreated from a burning Moscow. That had been the moment when he had realized the peril that his army of 300,000 was in, and he had obtained the pouch for his own protection. Death was not something to fear, but he had no intention of being captured or humiliated, especially in front of a man as mercurial as Tsar Alexander I. Even now, the odds were not completely zero - a miracle could occur to save him and his Empire. When it did reach that number, then he would end his own life.

BAVOOM.

A sound occurred from behind him, and at first Napoleon wondered why Ney had returned so soon. But there was no one there, and the only indication of change was a peculiar humming sound in the air. Napoleon abruptly had a strange feeling, that something that should not have been there was indeed there. And as the hairs on his back of neck stood up, he turned around.

There was a blue circle of some kind, with an emblem of a star in the center. Perhaps it was the way it just floated as if the laws of gravity did not apply to it, but somehow Napoleon knew instinctively. This circle was not part of his world. Especially when the circle opened like a door would, and Napoleon was able to look inside.

Inside that door was blackness. As he gazed at it, Napoleon could feel its immensity. For all he knew, it stretched without end, going on and on to somewhere else. But as he puzzled over the mysterious circle, a feeling bubbled up in his chest, one which he realized he had not experienced in a long, long time.

It was the feeling of discovering something new, of excitement. Rulers didn't have time for such things, especially ones whom had been fighting for the world like he had spent the past 15 years doing. But hadn't Napoleon just decided to renounce his throne? Was he not pondering his death anyways, the ultimate abandonment to this mortal plane? Had not his generals and people betrayed him? Were not all the armies of Europe, those who had been his enemies for years upon years, preparing to march upon and capture him once and for all?

Then what did he have to lose by jumping into this circle and heading to a new place, maybe a new world?

He slowly left his desk and moved a little closer to the circle, but then he stopped. As he looked at that blackness, there was something else Napoleon thought about. If he went through the circle and entered that darkness, he would most likely never return to Europe. If he walked in, he would possibly enter someplace horrifying and dangerous. Perhaps this circle, as innocuous as it looked, was the entrance to the gates of Hell.

It didn't matter. This was an escape from this world, a refuge, and perhaps, Napoleon thought, the beginning of a new adventure. And so, with lightness in his step that had not existed since he was a young man traipsing through Paris, he walked through the circle, into the blackness, and looked back on his palace and room. The circular door closed upon him, and now he was left in a place without light or sound. Napoleon was enveloped in a world where the concept of nothingness had complete supremacy, but despite that there was no room for fear in his heart. He looked as far as he could and murmured to himself.

"Now, let us see what Fate has decided to grant me."


	2. The Fool: Chapter 1

**PART I:**

**The Fool**

"_The role of determination is to limit the agonies of doubt and the perils of hesitation when the motives for action are inadequate."_

_-_Clausewitz

…

…

In the courtyard of the Tristain Academy, a group of students were huddled together. They were accompanied by a menagerie of strange creatures which sat or flew right next to them. Everyone in the crowd was tired. Today had been the day when all second-year students would summon their familiars, magical creatures who would act as their servants. Most of them summoned ordinary creatures like a frog or a cat, but exceptional students were capable of bringing forth something greater. Even now, some of the students glanced in awe at a blue-haired girl who sat on her summoned dragon.

But now the last student of the day stood in the summoning circle, her hands outstretched as she held a wand. Her name was Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Valliere. She began to finish the spell that would grant her the beautiful and pristine servant which she desired.

"Heed my summoning…. And bring forth my familiar."

BOOM

"Another explosion?"

One of her classmates muttered those words to her friend, and the latter giggled. But the reaction among the crowd was not much more than that. The Valliere girl, the one who had never been capable of doing even the simplest spells, was now trying to summon a familiar? It was a terrific joke. But even the best jokes get stale after one hears them multiple times. If any of them retained their interest at this point, it was only to watch an incompetent girl, someone who had clearly survived two years at Tristain Academy of Magic, the most prestigious school of magic in the land of Helgekinia, only because of the power of her family, accept her final defeat. One red-haired Germanian girl in the crowd was barely hiding her glee at the prospect.

Louise, her pink hair flowing, struggled to her feet. Her face was an impassive mask. It did its best to ignore the soot which stained her face and uniform, as well as the fear which gripped her heart. She turned towards her teacher, Professor Colbert, her voice slightly quavering.

"I need one last shot. Please, Professor."

The bald man pushed up the folds of his glasses and glanced at her, but said nothing. He had no reason to stop her from trying, and his silence represented tacit approval.

However, while he would allow Louise to continue, she knew that this was it. The next minute, the time necessary to finish the summoning spell, would be the most important moment in her life. Either she summoned a familiar, and proved herself worthy to join the rest of the nobles standing in the courtyard with their magical servants or…..

No. She wouldn't think of it. Not of probable quick marriage to her fiancé Wardes, not of the disappointment her family would have, not of being removed from this Academy. If she thought of failure, if she envisioned failure, it would already be over before she began to even say a single word.

With her face set, Louise stepped into the circle, and raised her wand.

"My name is Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Valliere!"

The voice was calm, mechanical. She couldn't betray her fear at this point, not now. But even as she continued the chant, her heart became a vortex of passion, and she prayed inwardly.

_I have to seize my destiny. I have to show that I'm worthy to everyone, that I am not a worthless failure_. _Brimir, gods, grant me a familiar. Any familiar._

Her mouth continued its motions. The chant and pose was perfect. But her eyes flitted out, at the surrounding classmates, and in their eyes was glee, the joy of watching failure and final defeat. And so while her mouth repeated the spell necessary to bring forth a familiar, her heart said something else.

_I'll take anything. I wished for a dragon and griffin once, but not anymore. A mouse, a bird, even a demon. Yes, a demon._

_I'll take a demon, Brimir! One who will destroy me, one whom will swallow everyone around me, the world, even Cattleya! Even if I have to give up my soul and everything I love, grant me this wish, Brimir!_

"Heed my summoning!"

That last line broke from the rest, as Louise's chant progressed from reciting to screaming. It was different this time. She felt power and her right arm shook with pain. But the pain was good. It signified change; change from the failures of the past. She would eliminate her past mistakes, and march onwards as she would reach for a glorious destiny among the stars. The first step would begin here.

"AND BRING FORTH MY FAMILIAR!"

The chant finished…. And the magic circle exploded.

As smoke filled the courtyard, Louise nearly dropped to her knees. Was that it? The summoning had felt different, but had she created nothing more than another explosion, that symbol of failure which continually chased her? Was the prayer worth nothing to Brimir? Her mind panicked with these questions, especially since the crowd had begun to laugh again.

"You're still a Zero after all, Louise!"  
>Louise turned towards Kirche's voice in anger, tears starting to leak out of her eyes. But then she felt a presence in the smoke. Something was in there this time. And as the smoke dispersed, she and everyone else looked at what was in there with an expression of surprise.<p>

It was a man, a human being. A first glance seemed to indicate that he was in his forties, but as Louise's eyes ran over him, this man seemed far, far older than that. He was standing, but with a slouching posture, and exhaustion emanated from every part of his body. The fact that his clothing was not of fine quality did not help either. He wore a giant grey coat which had clearly been worn down through the years, accompanied with a formal white shirt and a pair of black boots.

But it was his eyes which were noticeable. The face was somewhat handsome, but it wasn't that interesting, especially since what was left of his hair clung to his scalp in an unkempt fashion. But his eyes, while evidently exhausted, were piercing, and Louise instinctively avoided them as she made her confused statement.

"Who are you?"

Two people spoke those words. Louise looked at the other, and then realized that Colbert had his wand out. He pointed it at the person she had summoned, his brows furrowed. But it wasn't that which surprised Louise and the crowd. Colbert was clearly emitting absolute hostility, with overwhelming pressure, as the students, some of whom had been about to laugh at Louise summoning what was clearly a commoner, gaped at his reaction. The pressure was horrifying, and the bumbling and kind professor emitted an aura which Louise realized was almost, though only almost, as terrible as her mother's in her worst rages. Everyone knew. Colbert was perfectly ready to kill the Valliere girl's familiar before he would move a single step.

While the students and Louise gaped in fear at the uncontrolled killing intent in Colbert's stance and words, the familiar looked merely confused. Colbert's intensive rage, even as it was clearly directed at him, provoked utterly no reaction, while the surrounding students who merely felt its aftereffects stared with fear at their professor. Now that they thought about it, could the man even understand the professor?

"Is that anyway to speak to me?"

It appeared that he could, as he gave a clipped response. But it was strange. He spoke what appeared to be Helgekinian, but at the same time it wasn't. The accent was wrong, but also the wording was slightly different, as if he was speaking a completely different dialect. It took everyone a few seconds to actually comprehend what he was saying, and it appeared that the same was occurring with the familiar.

"I don't know what you are, familiar, but you're not a human. No human could give off such a strong scent of blood."

The statement by Colbert only served to spread the confusion as the students all sniffed the air. What the heck was Colbert talking about? There was no scent, no sign of blood on the man's spotless coat or boots. There even wasn't a trace of red on his clothing.

However, the hostile reaction of the professor changed things. When Louise had at first looked at the human in front of her, she had panicked. The man, with his dusty clothes, was clearly a commoner. And to summon something like that was almost as bad as summoning nothing at all, and would have continued to make her the laughingstock of the Academy. But Colbert's reaction was too strange if he really was just a commoner. If the professor claimed that this thing was not human, then perhaps it was best to accept and keep him as her familiar. After all, she would avoid being kicked out of the Academy if she could just contract with it.

"Professor Colbert. Whatever he is, he is my familiar. Please, let me finish the contract."

Colbert looked at Louise. His wand shook for a moment, and Louise began to really worry about whether her successful summoning would end right there. However, the teacher eventually sighed and put away the wand.

"He's all yours, Miss Valliere."

Louise nodded in acceptance at Colbert's decision. But before she could make a move, the man – no, she reminded herself, it wasn't a man, it was her familiar, her servant - turned around and strode off towards what appeared to be the castle gates.

"Wait up, you! What are you doing?"

The familiar turned around with a quizzical expression at Louise's expression.

"Is this a trick question?"

"Listen, you! I summoned you, so you're my familiar! That means you have to do what I say!"

"Summon? Familiar? Are you magicians?"

Louise's response was to gape at this question, but as her peers burst into laughter at the absurd question, her face grew red. Had she summoned a moron?

"Be quiet! My name is Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Valliere! And I summoned you, which means you're my familiar, and have to obey me!"

The man's eyes seemed to widen for a second in surprise.

"So you're a magician, then? Can you show me your magic?"

Louise's face turned bright red at that question, and the crowd guffawed. This person, this dog had already struck at her weak point! But no, she thought to herself. She had to calm down. She had performed magic, just now, and that meant that he had no right to question her!

"I summoned you, familiar! That is magic! And like I said, you have to obey me because of that!"

"But I'm not your familiar yet, am I?"

"Huh?"

As Louise once again gaped at the question, he continued.

"You told your professor that you needed to finish the contract with me. This means it hasn't been established yet. So, tell me girl, why should I be your familiar?"

The surrounding groups of students were stunned. A familiar denying his master from the beginning? This was completely unheard of. But before they could break into jeers at Louise's utter incompetence, he smiled, though it was one which did not reach his eyes.

"I'll accept. I can tell potential when I see it, girl. So I will be your _partner _for now, if that is what you desire. If you are worthy, we can work together, and if you are not-"

The man shrugged his shoulders, and thenraised his arms out wide.

"Since you gave me your name, I shall give you mine. I am Napoleon Bonaparte, Emperor of the French, King of Italy, Protector of the Confederation of the Rhine, Mediator of the Helvetic Confederation. I shall accept becoming your partner, Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Valliere, and I will look forward to crushing our enemies and seeking the world. Now, let us complete this contract."

…

"I must say, Louise, that is quite an unusual way of sealing a contract."

Louise said nothing to Napoleon. She continued to walk determinedly in front of him, her nose held high. Nevertheless, the Emperor continued to follow her for the moment. They left the courtyard and had entered a stone tower. As they walked up a set of stairs, Napoleon took notice of every detail. If this place did contain magic like the girl had said, it was likely not Earth, especially given how old-fashioned some of the things he had observed were. Their clothing and the stone traditional castle really made it feel like to him that he had gone back to around the Middle Ages, though he could tell that he was in some kind of magic school.

The two entered what appeared to be a dormitory, and then Louise opened the door to a room. Napoleon took note of how spacious it was. It was twice as large as his room during his days as a student at the military academy, and a luxurious bed occupied the middle. There was a desk and chair also by the bed. Napoleon walked towards the chair and sit down on it, only for Louise to shriek.

"What are you doing, you commoner! Why are you sitting down in the presence of a noble?"

"Noble?"

Napoleon noted the word to himself and mulled it over for a bit before he continued.

"Do you not have the courtesy to offer a seat to a guest, Louise?"

"A guest? You're my familiar! I summoned you!"

"That changes nothing. I have arrived at your school for the first time, and have pledged to work with you."

"S-shut up!"

Louise pointed her wand at Napoleon. She then flicked it over at a pile of clothes nearby.

"As my familiar, this is your first order. Take these clothes and wash them."

Napoleon had put his hands in front of him, and was looking at the girl. At first, he gave no reaction to Louise's command, but then he responded.

"Excuse me?"

"What's wrong? How do you think you're going to get food, or a place to sleep? You're my familiar and you don't seem to have any special abilities, so you can at least do menial tasks like cleaning."

Napoleon's expression became more impassive in response to such a command.

"Oi, girl. Do you remember my name?"

For the first time, Louise seemed to hesitate. She looked upwards in confusion before her face grew red, probably in frustration.

"Well, you're not remembering mine!" She yelled. "I am not 'girl'! I am Louise Francoise le Blanc de la Valliere, and you will address me with my full name, familiar!"

"When you start calling me by my full name, I shall do the same for you." Napoleon said. "But I will re-introduce myself. I am Napoleon Bonaparte, Emperor of the French, King of Italy, Protector of the Confederation of the Rhine, Mediator of the Helvetic Confederation. Do you understand, Louise? Em-per-or."

He took particular care to stress every syllable of that last word, only for Louise to stare at him.

"Emperor? No you're not. There are no emperors. That is a title only reserved for one who would rule all of Helgekinia!"

"I never said I was from Helgekinia. I'm not from this world, Louise."

"That's just stupid!"

Louise threw up her hands in exasperation and strode to the bed. She laid down in it without even bothering to undress and threw the covers over her.

"Fine, don't do the laundry, useless familiar! I'll figure out something on my own. Just leave me alone!"

Louise gave a short breath after finishing that statement, which Napoleon took notice.

"Are you crying?"

His voice changed. Before it was short and sarcastic, throwing off questions and statements with aplomb. But now it was more soothing, inquiring about this girl in a sincere manner. It didn't help.

"N-no! I wouldn't cry over you, useless familiar! Now go away and leave me alone!"

Napoleon hesitated for a few seconds longer, and then got up. He looked at the round form occupying the bed.

"It is late. I will return tomorrow morning. Good night, Louise Francoise le Blanc de la Valliere."

With those words, Louise heard him stride out of the room. It was only when she heard the door shut that she let out hot tears of humiliation. Why couldn't anything go right for her? Sure, she summoned a familiar, but it was a terrible one who refused to listen to her at all. She still hadn't really proved anything, only that instead of a total failure, she was just a partial one. The students would still continue to mock her and her mother would still be ashamed of her. All she had managed to do was to stay at this Academy a little longer, but for how long given that she still couldn't cast a spell and had a disobedient familiar?

Still, she thought as she cried herself to sleep, her new servant really knew how to talk.

…

Napoleon looked out on the night sky, with its two moons. He lay down on the courtyard, smelling the fresh scent of new grass and feeling the wind, but he couldn't help but feel slightly discomfited at looking at the strange objects in the sky. Not only was the moon so different, the stars were in the completely wrong places in the sky.

The more he thought about it, he couldn't help but believe that he had been taken to an interesting place. The denizens whom he had met seemed to all be magicians, people who spoke a language which was highly similar to French yet different. It almost seemed to be some mixture of particularly archaic French with Italian, which suited him just fine. His French had always been mediocre anyways. The fact that he could understand these people was a good enough start.

But there remained problems. After leaving his angry partner, he had gone straight to the library. This country was similar to his France. Many of the people he had met, his master included, had names which he recognized from his days of reading history, and a glance at a maps showed that the geography was in fact fairly similar to Europe. But this country called Tristain was more like the France of the Ancien Regime. Napoleon had no doubt the ruler of this land was a fat slovenly king, whom did nothing but play around with idle pursuits while subjugating people only for the sake of his own greed. It also appeared that those who could use magic were nobles, and they claimed their power through birthright. The mere thought filled Napoleon with rage – he never forgot the boys at the Military Academy in his youth, incompetent fools whom mocked him because he was of lower birth even as they were inferior soldiers. Many of those men had died during the Terror, and he had not mourned any of them. He idly wondered whether those whom the nobles called commoners in the same way that one talks of a roach were truly incapable of magic, or just didn't possess the means and resources to try in the same way that these nobles did.

Still, there were problems. He opened a book that he had snuck out of the library and flipped the pages, stopping on a random sheet. It was unreadable. The language that these people spoke was similar, but apparently they used a completely different alphabet. He would have to learn it. For now, as obnoxious as that Louise girl was, she would be useful. He needed information, and she provided an excuse for him to roam around this academy and learn as much about this country as he could.

But that wasn't the only reason he would remain at her side. The girl had potential, and his initial appraisal of her had been backed through his research. While at the library, he had eavesdropped on some students who were gossiping about the day's events. From what he had heard, to summon a human was unprecedented, and the fact that it had come at the hands of Louise all the more so. It appeared that she was an incompetent mage from a powerful family. As someone who despised those who survived only through family connections like it seemed some of the students had claimed, she should have been among the first targets of his contempt. But he had not survived countless battles without being incapable of discerning hidden talent. The girl was not without power, he was certain of that much. It would be interesting to follow her for now, even if her treatment of him so far had remained less than impressive.

Still, he needed to rest. Being transported into such a different world was mentally exhausting even for him. He had left Louise's room, but he noted the grass was soft enough and shrugged. He had slept in far worse. Pulling off his military boots, he casually tossed the book he had been holding to his right. It landed on the ground with a soft thud.

SMASH

The minute the book stopped moving, an icicle shot into the grass. Napoleon barely managed to conceal his surprise, but chose not to move his body. He had no idea from where the attack came from, but against a wizard who could do something like that, it would be better to do nothing rather risking a move that could possibly provoke him. Still, he noted, it was a precise shot. He hadn't thrown the book that far, but the icicle had bridged the gap perfectly between them. A centimeter to the right or the left, and either the book or the fingers on his right hand would have been gone.

He craned his neck up and noticed that someone was walking up to him, and chose to remain generally still. However, his left hand inched inside his coat. He had brought a pistol with him when he entered this world, a standard flintlock. He had brought it in case of the worst, but he needed to see who the target was.

The attacker finally walked up. It was a girl, incredibly thin and with strange blue hair –Napoleon couldn't help but wonder about the bizarre hair colors these people had. But as he did so, she walked up to his head, carrying a massive crooked staff. She stopped when Napoleon could finally get a good look at her face as he lay down, and then pointed at the book.

"Stolen. Damaged."

It was a quiet voice, one that Napoleon could barely hear even as close as they were. But he simply shrugged his shoulders at the accusation.

"Not stolen. Borrowed. I can't read it anyways, you can return it if you want. Besides, that's a bit much for a stolen book, isn't it?"

The girl's stoic expression never changed. But she bent down and picked up the book. Then she finally said something.

"You're just like him. Be careful."

With no further words, she shuffled off into the night.

Napoleon thought about going after her, but then he realized something strange. His left hand – no those strange runes which had appeared on his hand since the girl had established the contract was glowing. There was also an odd feeling. Napoleon felt… light. Like he was 20 years younger, and the burdens of his years of battle were simply washed away from his body and mind.

Despite the pleasant feeling, he pulled the pistol out of his coat and set it on the grass. As he let go of it, those runes faded, and he wondered about what had happened. Did that light appear only when he was holding a weapon? While he may have been feeling that wonderful concept of youth again, it was possible that it came with repercussions. He would need to be cautious of those runes.

The former Emperor, he whom yesterday had slept in a great palace, now draped his greatcoat over himself and slept out under the stars. However, it remained the best sleep that he had obtained in a long, long time.


	3. The Fool: Chapter 2

_If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle._  
>- Sun Tzu<p>

...

...

Napoleon had never been one who needed sleep that badly, and thus as dawn began, he rose without much difficulty. Still, he thought, he could really use coffee – the British blockade had meant that even he had difficulty obtaining the wonderful beverage, and even one with his rank had been forced to use chicory root as a substitute much like the rest of his people. Without the burdens and duties that came with ruling so many, there was not much to do during this early hour, and so he decided to check up on his partner like he had promised to do. Nobles, from his experience, always slept incredibly late as they never had anything better to do. He would make sure that Louise would not be like that as long the two worked together.

Even as he stormed into his partner's room with a loud bang, he realized that the noise of the door opening made little impression on her sleeping form. This really would not do, and so he opened the curtains. Sunlight streamed into the room and directly onto Louise's bed, but she still did nothing but roll around. So Napoleon stood over her bed and clapped his hands loudly three times.

"Up, Valliere."

The girl finally managed to wake up, but barely. She sat up, but at first barely seemed to acknowledge that there was someone else there. That changed after a bit.

"Wait! What's a man doing in here! Who are you – wait, you're the person I summoned!"

The idiotic response wasn't even worth replying to, but Napoleon mentally sighed. He knew the girl had great potential, but hopefully she had managed to learn that she could not boss him around she pleased from last night, right?

"So I did summon a human, though an odd one….. Fine! Familiar, dress me!"

No. It looked like she was stupider than he had assumed.

Once, when he was still a young captain, he had defied the orders of his generals at the Siege of Toulon, and ordered a charge with his men which had secured the victory. If he had done that as a young man with the military elite, then the preening of a young idiotic noblewoman was not worth his time. Now that she was fully awake, there was nothing further for him to do inside, and so he strode outside the room. He would wait outside for her to dress herself, and then they would really need to have a talk about their relationship. He needed her for information, but he had no doubt that if things got too bad, he could simply find someone else who would prove more pliable. The fact that he chose to simply wait for her rather than abandon her for good after her ridiculous request was enough sign of the Emperor's graciousness.

"W-wha-COME BACK, YOU!"

While Louise screamed out after him, it appeared that she had no intention of chasing him outside, and so he could hear her dress himself as he waited outside the door. As he waited, one of the adjacent wooden doors opened. A red-haired girl with a grin on her face, one whom he had seen talking with Louise yesterday, walked out, with a lizard as big as a tiger accompanying her. As she noticed him, Napoleon couldn't help but glance at her massive chest.

"Good morning, there."

Her voice was clearly mocking him, and so Napoleon chose to ignore her. The girl moved forward a little closer to him.

"Not saying anything, Familiar of Zero? Still, she got an older human for the job? I honestly thought she could hire someone younger and more handsome to act the role, but I guess you're the best she could do."

It really was a pity, Napoleon thought to himself. The girl was beautiful, and it would be a shame if he had to execute her someday.

While Napoleon continued to remain silent, his partner chose this moment to stumble out, adjusting a cloak over herself. Her eyes lit up with enmity upon seeing the other girl.

"Good morning, Louise."

"Good morning, Kirche."

While the two looked at each other, and then began squabbling about something or another, Napoleon decided to ignore them and examine the lizard. Its red color was peculiar, but what was most noticeable was the fire from its tail and the sparks from its mouth. Just another confirmation that he was now part of a truly different world. Napoleon wondered what other species might exist here – perhaps all those mythical beasts that one learns about as a child existed here. He'd have particular interest in meeting a unicorn, if he didn't take out his hatred of England on it.

Meanwhile, it appeared the two girls had done squabbling. Napoleon noted that the red-haired girl, Kirche, had left in a huff while her lizard followed behind her. Now all that remained was to talk with his partner.

"Vallie-"

"Famil-"

The two of them began at the same time, only to be cut off. After a bit of silence, Napoleon began again.

"Let's start with this. I am Napoleon Bonaparte. Not 'Familiar.' I have questions about my summoning as well as about this world."

"You shouldn't talk! What kind of servant is this, whom completely disobeys my orders?"

"Servant?"

Napoleon's voice grew cold, and Louise noticeably retreated.

"Valliere, are you telling me that you went through all that effort to summon me just because you needed a butler? I had assumed that this important summoning ritual of yours would get you something more worthy than that which you can get through a job board. I have chosen to work with you, not under you, but this will not continue if you choose to insist on the latter. This is especially more so if I cannot receive information that will be useful for you and myself."

He smiled inwardly. Striking back at her impertinence, and getting the topic towards what he needed. This was important.

Louise stammered at his response for a few seconds, and then roared back in anger.

"You can't talk back to me like that! A familiar is a familiar! Go stand with the other familiars while I have breakfast!"

As she hurried off to the dining hall, Napoleon stood there and watched her. It's not like he particularly had an interest in maintaining this contract, but he had figured it would last for more than one day. Still, he decided to listen to her for now. He hadn't seen the other familiar whom had been summoned and he wanted to examine them and their properties. Missing breakfast was trivial anyways. Any military commander should be prepared to miss multiple meals if necessary, and nobles always had extravagant multiple course meals whenever they ate, which was something he had never liked nor understood.

…

As Napoleon walked down, he noted that the courtyard was filled with a myriad of creatures. Some were familiar to Napoleon – frogs, dogs, a very large mole. Others were more noticeable and unusual from his perspective, most particularly the large blue dragon which was peacefully sleeping. The presence of the former creatures confused him – was summoning a human so much worse than summoning a frog? Also, did these things need to eat? No doubt the dragon needed quite a bit of food, but it had made no move on the surrounding familiars.

Someone stepped behind him, and he initially assumed that one of the students was here to examine their respective familiar. However, as he turned around, he saw from the person's clothes that it was a maid. She appeared to be quite young, and was carrying a basket of respective foodstuffs, most likely for these creatures. She was likely a commoner. Given how utterly useless the nobles had proven at his goal of obtaining information about this world, maybe she could help him?

"Good day, miss."

The maid was completely taken aback by his greeting, and nearly dropped her basket.

"Oh, um, sorry sir! I mean….. Oh, are you Miss Valliere's familiar?"

Napoleon arched his eyebrows at that response.

"You know who I am?"

"It's become quite the talk at the school already, that a human was summoned during the Springtime Summoning Ritual! Pleased to meet you, Mr.…."

"Bonaparte"

"Yes, good day, Mr. Bonaparte. My name is Siesta. I serve as a maid at Tristain Academy of Magic."

She punctuated her statement with a bow.

"A pleasure to meet you, Siesta. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?"

…

The maid had proven incredibly useful to Napoleon. Despite her initial confusion and hesitation upon first meeting him, she proved to be a talkative person, and knew a lot more about this new land, Helegikina, than one would expect from an ordinary maid. Napoleon accompanied her as she performed her tasks for the day, and helped her to a limited degree in exchange for a general understanding of their history and more importantly, the interaction between commoners like herself and nobles. She even knew to some degree how magic worked in this land, and also confirmed that magic was almost the exclusive property of nobles – even though she knew about how magic worked as a result of the location of job, she definitely could not perform any herself. The fact that she all but dragged him to the kitchens after hearing his stomach growling also made her a better person from his perspective, and the chef was a nice rowdy individual who reminded him of the constant grumblings of his Old Guard. He had been amused when the chef had watched with stunned silence as Napoleon downed the stew that he had been served in minutes. He had never been one to waste time on food.

It was mid-afternoon and Napoleon accompanied Siesta as she set out a tray of cakes for the various people who apparently also needed tea and sweets along with their meals. He observed a foppish blonde-haired man flirting with another blonde-haired woman, and observed that he had seen the man with another girl with brown hair last night on his way to the courtyard. Amusing, but what did their habits matter to him? It was none of his business as he continued to talk to Siesta.

"So, you're a maid, but you do know how to read?"

"Yes, my father taught me."

"That is impressive. This land's written language is different from mine, so will it be possible for you to tea-"

"BONAPARTE!"

Napoleon whipped his head only to receive an explosion in his face. Strangely, it was not lethal, but almost seemed to be more like an extremely violent cloud of smoke as opposed to a proper explosion. Even a master of artillery like himself had never seen something like that. Still, even if he couldn't rule out the fact that she had just tried to blow him up, she had said his name instead of the term "familiar" or "servant." That was a pretty good sign.

As he managed to make his way out from the dark cloud, he bumped into one extremely angry pink-haired little girl who ground out her next statement.

"Where. Have. You. Been?"

"I have been taking a tour of the school and gathering information about this realm. Are your classes finished?"

"That isn't the point! I told you to wait in the courtyard with the other familiars, and now I see you abandoned me! To wander with the maid! What kind of servant are you?"

Napoleon simply stared at her for several long seconds before gesturing back to Siesta.

"There are tables over there. Can you set some coffee for both of us? The two of us really need to have a talk."

…

As he sat at one of the tables, Napoleon raised the cup to his lips, and took a long sigh of contentment. He had coffee at last, the most important drink of the day. His partner sat across from his, a cup in front of her, though the Emperor silently grumbled as she dumped an unholy amount of sugar and cream into her drink.

"Now, let us start from the beginning. I am Napoleon Bonaparte, Emperor of the French, King of Italy, Protector of the Confederation of the Rhine, Mediator of the Helvetic Confederation. Before you summoned me, I was the conqueror of the entire civilized world. And you are?"

He noted that Louise gave no reaction to that proud claim.

"I am Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière, the youngest daughter of the proud Valliere family. And what do you mean you conquered the world? Did I summon some famous unknown hero from the future?"

She didn't believe him, but Napoleon was actually pleased about that. He would have been disappointed if she had accepted him at his word right there.

"I am not from this world, this…. Helegikina. I am from another world, which we call Earth. It is remarkably similar to yours. And I conquered the entire world that was worth conquering anyways. There were a few insignificant countries that I chose to spare, Russia, Britain, but they paid me tribute in return for peace."

Yes, he had just completely lied to a little girl. It's not like she had any ways of verifying what had really happened to his Empire. Still, the confused expression on her face did not change.

"Why should I believe anything you say? Y-you're just a familiar, there's no way you can be a noble, much less an Emperor."

She harrumphed and drank from her cup. Fiddling with a spoon that was in his coffee cup, Napoleon responded.

"I'm not a mere commoner, Louise. In fact, I think you know that as well."

"W-what are you talking about, Napoleon? I told you, you can make up a story about how you were an Emperor, but I'm not going to believe it. As far as I know, you're completely lying! Do you have any proof?"

"Yes I do."

Louise's face scrunched up some more.

"You have proof of your status from another world? Well, what is it?"

He did not initially respond. Instead, he slowly raised his finger, and pointed it at her.

"You're the proof."

"What?"

Her face flushed in confusion and anger.

"Is this a joke, familiar? What are you talking about?"

"I've done a little research on the summoning ritual, you know." Bonaparte said. "I know that the greater the mage, the greater the familiar you summon. Tell me, Louise. What could you possibly summon that would be greater than someone who ruled the entire world?"

"What are you talking about?"

It was fun watching her grow steadily more and more confused. This was good. It made her more inclined to believe.

"Yesterday in this courtyard your fellow classmates were laughing at you, and they still laugh at you for summoning someone worthless. And Louise, if you really did summon a commoner, an ordinary human with no abilities at all, then you are indeed worthless. "

Louise was struck by those words. She lowered her head slightly, and trembled. But then Napoleon leapt up, and seized her hands.

"But you are not worthless, Louise. I have no knowledge about magic, but I do know humans, and I do know value. And you have value, which must mean you have the power to be a truly great mage. I, someone who ruled the world, acknowledge you as someone who has great magic and skill. It remains to you to unlock it."

He sat back down, but his face never stopped looking at her.

"I can tell you that I have no direct proof for now that I was a ruler, Louise. But I, Napoleon Bonaparte, Emperor of the French, am asking you to trust me. I acknowledge your power and you are someone worthy to be my _partner_. In exchange, I will help you on your road to fulfill your own potential. Please, Louise. Trust me."

He trailed off, and watched her reaction. She was clearly hesitating, unsure of what to believe. But he knew what to say. This girl was proud. So by using that pride against her, he would make her more inclined to believe that which was mostly true, but for which he had no proof for.

"F-Fine. I'll be kind enough to accept your help! But don't think you can completely disobey me or something!"

She tilted her face up and avoided looking at him as she said that. A success. Now, it was time for him to get down to business.

"I have quite a few requests, actually. I'll need further clothes aside from this uniform, and not peasant stuff, but something worthy of both my status and as someone who will be helping you, Louise. There's also the matter of reading - I know how to read in my world, but your books are different. I'd like to get an idea of the world I'm in.

But first, partner, why don't you start by telling me about yourself?"

Louise had managed to calm down quickly, and then looked directly at him. And she began to talk about herself, her country, the school, her problems with magic, and magic itself. And Napoleon took care to listen and memorize every detail, every word that came out of her mouth.

Guess their ruler was a queen after all. Well, Louise had a high opinion of her, but he would eventually see for himself.


	4. The Fool: Chapter 3

_What I have done up to this is nothing. I am only at the beginning of the course I must run._

-Napoleon I

...

...

"You're still a failure, Louise the Zero!"

"Your success rate is always ZERO!"

Louise blocked her ears up as she walked down the hallways of the academy, as the afternoon sun began to set. Her dress was covered in soot from her latest attempt to transmute brass, and her classmates hadn't stopped in their mockery after they had been once again forced to stay behind and clean up. She did her best to ignore them, but she couldn't ignore the trembling in her heart.

Three days ago, she had summoned an arrogant, loudmouthed familiar that refused to be called that name and insisted it was an Emperor. But as she thought back to her conversation with him in the courtyard the day after he had been summoned, she remained completely confused. She had stated to Bonaparte that she had no way of believing anything he said, and it was still true. She did believe from the haughty way in which he carried him that he was likely a figure of some high authority, but an Emperor? That was utterly ridiculous from her perspective. There were no emperors. Only someone who had conquered the world could truly call himself that, after all.

But he had told her that it was because of his rank that he summoned her. And Louise knew that she couldn't deny such an idea to herself. What he had spouted from the moment they had met was fantastical, incredible, something beyond the beliefs of anyone. But isn't that what she wanted? To be acknowledged, respected by her peers? Did she not want to reach out beyond the stars and achieve something for herself that would live on forever? He represented that it was possible. After she had told Napoleon about her past in the courtyard yesterday, he had talked about his to some degree. He had told her then that he was in fact not born a nobleman. He was from a poor refugee family, and had to work towards his position of Emperor. But if someone like that could become the ruler of the world, what could a scion of the prestigious Valliere family do and become?

However, if everything he said was true, and she really was a fantastic mage, how come she still couldn't cast a single spell?

Her train of thought would have run farther, but Louise saw that while she had been thinking, her feet had automatically taken her to her destination. She looked at herself and brushed a little of the soot that had resulted from the last classroom disaster, and then pushed open the doors of the library.

She wandered through the rows of books, and then finally found him sitting at a table. Or rather, she found an enormous pile of books which surrounded her familiar – no, partner. Napoleon had constantly insisted on that word.

Louise walked up to him from behind, and then gave a short cough.

"Good day, Bonaparte."

Without giving an immediate response, Napoleon closed the book he had been reading. He turned around and gave a small smile upon seeing Louise's return.

"Hello, Louise. How are you doing?"

Louise gave a half-hearted shrug to that statement. She really didn't feel like talking about her class work with him, especially since he had never bothered to attend the classes anyways. From what she knew, he had spent the last two days either in the library or just wandering around the school.

Napoleon arched an eyebrow at her noncommittal response, and then stood up from his chair. Before Louise could move, one of his hands rested on her head, tousling on her head.

"W-what are you doing, s-stupid Bonaparte?"

She gave a quick swipe with her hand, and leapt back. Napoleon's expression became slightly confused.

"You've had a rough day, haven't you, partner? I can tell you're pretty frustrated."

"S-shut up, familiar! I did fine with my spells! I didn't fail at them or cause any explosions or anything like that. I am from the prestigious Valliere family, after all!"

Even as she made those boastful words, Louise inwardly reproached herself. Why did she have to lie like that, both to Napoleon and to herself? Besides, it was clear that since his expression hadn't changed at all, he clearly didn't believe her words. What was the point of this self-deception?

However, it appeared to Louise that Napoleon wasn't interested in pursuing the topic further. He sat back down, his hand on his cheek. Then he spoke up.

"By the way, Louise. I never did thank you for teaching me your alphabet."

"W-well, of course! I'm just showing the generosity of a noble, and you should be grateful, Bonaparte! Though I'll admit, you've learned it incredibly fast. How could someone like you learn a written system in a mere two days?"

"It's very similar to the writing system in my world. Almost identical, in fact. It really wasn't that hard."

Louise nodded at those words.

"Well, if you are grateful, then there is something I need you to do for me. In three days will be the Day of the Void. I want you to come with me to main city of Tristania and get a sword."

"A sword?" Napoleon repeated.

"Yes. A sword. Even if you are an Emperor, you still may have to protect me. And you'll need a sword to do that, since you don't possess any magic. I'll also need to get you some additional clothes like you asked for a couple days ago."

Napoleon sat back and thought for a bit. Then he nodded.

"Very well, Louise. But there's someplace in your city I would like to stop by after we're done with shopping. Will that be acceptable?"

…

Napoleon grimaced as the two entered the dingy weapon shop. Her partner was a strange person. She knew that he was not a wizard, yet Louise had insisted that he wear clothes befitting of one. The cloak was as bad as the uniform he had worn to his coronation in restricting movement, and the high collared shirt was also frustrating to wear, as it lacked the splendor of a proper military uniform. He really needed to look at what the Tristain soldiers wore and co-opt their equipment.

The shopkeeper openly grimaced on seeing a noble, which left a poor taste on Napoleon's tongue. However, this feeling of pity was quickly counteracted by the fact that the shopkeeper's appearance, with his rat-like teeth and large nose, gave off the air of someone whom could not be trusted to remain honest. Napoleon remembered the old merchants who had wholly ripped off the Armies of the Republic with their inferior equipment. He had sent the profit-seekers off to jail if they were lucky, and to hard labor if their crimes were particularly egregious. Still, Louise had likely dealt with this type of man before. She should know what to do.

"I don't know much about swords or anything, so just pick something appropriate."

Louise was quickly distracted after her statement towards the shopkeeper by a slamming noise. She turned around, only to watch her familiar's head against a wall.

"Is something wrong?"

The fact that he gave no answer made her decide to take that as a 'yes'.

The shopkeeper ducked in the back, and then brought a gleaming sword. Louise's eyes gleamed, and even Napoleon raised an eyebrow. The shopkeeper gave a rattish grin, showing off what was left of his yellow teeth.

"My finest beauty. I truly do not want to part with it, but for one as beautiful as you, miss, I'd make an exception."

Louise gave a soft giggle at those words. She was about to ask the price when Napoleon roughly grabbed the sword. Without saying a word, he extended a finger and pressed the blade against it.

"What are you doing?"

Both the shopkeeper and the Louise cried out at Napoleon's action. But without even glancing at them, he brought the sword down. And the other two gasped as a small amount of blood trickled down his finger.

"N-napoleon?"

"I'll be fine."

With a contemptuous voice, he carelessly tossed the sword down on the counter.

"With the amount of force I used, a proper sword would have sliced my finger off, not drawn a small sliver of blood. You are selling trash, merchant."

The merchant was clearly shocked, both by the gesture and the disdainful words Napoleon had used. He opened his mouth to argue, but then Napoleon stared him dead in the eye. The merchant dropped to the floor and forgot his argument as Napoleon's gaze would have made a cobra blink.

"How about you go to the back and get us something useful? And be careful this time."

With those words, the merchant picked himself up and once again scuttled into the shop. Louise couldn't help but grumble at him.

"There was no need to treat him like that."

Napoleon shrugged at those words.

"He's selling trash. I would have thrown him in jail right there when I was a ruler."

She sighed at those words, though she took note of them as further evidence of him being a ruler. Then they both heard a voice.

"You, soldier! It appears that you know a good chunk of steel, unlike your lady friend over there."

The pair turned around, only to watch a sword somehow bounce up and down in its scabbard by itself. Napoleon moved towards the sword, while Louise stared at it.

"Napoleon, is the sword talking?"

The soft words that came from the girl's mouth made the sword jump up and down more vigorously.

"What's the matter, pal, you never seen a talking sword before? I had figured someone like this guy here would have seen something else just as amazing."

Napoleon stared in surprise at the sword. Then he walked towards it and pulled it out of the sheath. This sword was a mess, he thought. It clearly needed a good polishing, but he had not cleaned a sword in quite a long time even after years of war. Still, it was of a good proportion and had a nice grip. It was an actual weapon of war unlike the trash which he had been shown earlier.

"Valliere, I believe this is a common thing in your world, to have swords which talk?"

"This is a sentient sword! I've never seen anything like it! But ugh, it's rusty and stained."

"Oi, oi, I'm the legendary blade Derflinger, you know!"

Napoleon tilted his head at the proclamation. Obviously, he knew nothing about this Derflinger, and as he looked at the quizzical expression on Louise's face, neither did she. But he could tell the sword wasn't lying, and somehow it had known he was a 'soldier'. Either it was mistaken, delusional, or…..

"We'll buy this one."

Louise bristled slightly at his declaration.

"Don't go making decisions for me! Look at it! It is in terrible condition!"

"It can be fixed. Besides, I have never seen a talking sword before. It's an interesting thing to have."

Louise sighed as she looked at it, but said nothing more. But Derflinger jumped back in its scabbard and then bobbed up and down in gratitude.

"I'm free at last! Thanks a lot, user! Now, get that lazy shopkeeper out here and buy me!"

Napoleon's eyebrows rose at what the sword had just proclaimed.

"User? That's a bit of a strange word to use to describe me, Derflinger. Call me the Emperor Napoleon instead."

The sword didn't react to that statement for a moment, before it spoke up again with a quieter tone.

"You call yourself an Emperor, huh? But you don't even know your true powers?"

…

The two had finished getting a sword as well as clothes for the Emperor, but they remained within Tristania. Napoleon had been highly insistent on finding further books on the history of Helgekinia, and so after leaving the quarters reserved for commoners, they had entered what was the oldest library in Helgekinia, a proud and towering building which was as large as a palace. The two had quickly split up after entering. Napoleon grabbed three volumes concerning the founder Brimir and settled on a dusty chair. He flipped through them, at first with amusement, but then with greater and greater irritation.

All three of them were useless. Apparently, Brimir was some sort of ancient powerful magician, but these legends said nothing about him which was clearly true. Whether he really did slay a mythical dragon was something which really did not concern the Emperor. He just wanted to know how important Brimir was to the world he was in, but discovering the truth in the layers of legends upon legends which had to exist about this figure was gigantic. Still, it was something he needed to do if he wanted to understand Brimir's importance to this land.

"So, why are you even reading these books, pal?"

Napoleon had brought Derflinger along with him, and the sword was evidently bored given the silence in the library. But the Emperor did not even look at the sword as he responded.

"Derflinger, I'm not from this world. I'm from one, which is incredibly similar to Helgekinia, but also very different. For example, we possess no magic whatsoever."

"WHAT? No magic- ow."

Still not looking at the sword, Napoleon reached out his right hand, partially pulled the sword out, and then violently slammed it back into his scabbard.

"This is an institute of learning, Derflinger. Don't you know to be quiet?"

"Fine, fine, fine. But what about your world?"

"My world does not possess magic. I ruled the entire world back home, but now I need to learn all I can from this world if I am to survive in it. If you have no knowledge, you'll never win any battles. A sword should know that."

Derflinger remained silent for a bit before it spoke up, its voice a bit calmer.

"Very well, partner, but there's a few things you should note. First I'm over six thousand years old. Given that age, I can tell when people are lying, or at minimum not giving me the whole truth. It doesn't matter to me what you did in a completely different world, but we should be honest with one another."

Napoleon gave no outer reaction to Derflinger's statement, which took the silence as an indication to continue.

"Secondly, I can understand why you want to read to learn things, but why about Brimir? You can just ask me."

"You knew Brimir?"

The sword rattled up and down in response to the inquiry.

"So neither you nor your friend recognized me? Well, I started to remember given what you've been reading about. Like I said, I'm over six thousand years old; I've done a lot of things! But I am the legendary blade Derflinger, who was wielded by Sasha, the familiar of Brimir!"

"What?"

Napoleon jerked his head up in surprise at that statement.

"Sasha was Brimir's familiar? Was she an animal or a human?"

"Well, she was an elf, but that's clearly closer to a human. But she even married with Brimir, the Founder himself, you know! I see you still have a lot more reading to do!"

Napoleon thought back and mused on that statement. He had thought that from what he had seen in the Academy that he was a unique case of a human being summoned as a familiar. It appeared that he was wrong, that there had been at least one case of a humanoid summoning. And he also had learned that this Brimir character was a mage of the Void specialization, which was an ancient magic that had been lost for years.

It appeared that a possible reason for the magical failures of his master had been discovered.

"Derflinger, what does it look like when Void magic fails?"

...

After hearing what Brimir had to say, Napoleon had begun to search for books about magic. His search had proved to be fruitless, but there were other texts on various aspects of Helgekinia. Napoleon had continued to read on the countries of Helgekinia, their people and their geography, only to stop when he realized that the sun was beginning to set. This was surprising – he had honestly expected Louise to have been berating him for being late or something like that by now. So he picked up Derflinger and began to search the library for her.

He eventually found her. Napoleon had been looking through thick volumes of history, but Louise was standing by some shelves, looking at one thin volume. He noted that every few seconds, she would stop reading and glance to her left and right. It didn't stop him from sneaking up on her from behind.

"Louise?"

He had taken to speak softly, but she jumped at the noise, and stuffed the book quickly into the shelves, with her back guarding the row. Her face was incredibly red for some reason. Napoleon looked past her and could make out… something about a country maid? Oh well, it wasn't important.

"The sun's almost set. It's probably too late to return."

She gasped at his observation.

"Oh no, what do we do? We can't go back in the night. There are bandits and other things out in the wood we went through that'll make it too dangerous."

"Well, find an inn. We'll get back tomorrow."

"But I don't have that much money left!"

"We'll find a place. Don't worry."

She stammered in acknowledgement and he grinned. It would be all right; they would find a place and head back to the Academy in the morning. He would continue his research there. Things would work out.

...

So of course, things went terribly, terribly wrong.

He had made the assumption that she knew the where things were in this city. He was quickly relieved of that error, and then Derflinger had jumped in to provide his advice with directions, which his partner had been foolish enough to accept over his protests. The result was they had wandered across what appeared to be half of the city without finding an inn, and even Napoleon's military legs began to tire. Eventually, they found a place called the Charming Fairie Inn which they had happily entered, but then Napoleon stopped dead upon crossing the threshold. Even the horrors of watching his army melt away in the Russian winter was nothing compared to what was in front of the eyes of the Emperor.

It – yes, it – had the body of a muscular trained man, of with the build and height of one who was worthy to serve in the Imperial Guard. But the high boots, the strange shirt, the gigantic lips, the ridiculous flexing poses, all served to create something which appeared to be human, but which was clearly not. For possibly the first time in his life, Napoleon panicked and he had attempted to drag Louise out of this trap which would send them plunging into the bowels of Hell. However, Louise had had enough of walking, and insisted that they stay the night here. Fortunately, she had enough coins to make sure that they could both stay for the night, and Louise quickly crawled to her bed and fell promptly asleep.

Napoleon, on the other hand, left Derflinger in the room and went downstairs where the wine and the people were. He was interested in talking, with the people about nobles and commoners and how they viewed their lives. He ignored the owner – there was nothing to be gained in talking to such a hideous thing. But as he sat down at the bar, he noticed someone sitting to his right. There was nothing overly striking about him - he appeared to be an average well-built man in his 50s, with a lock of white hair and a tired face. But someone like that, whom had clearly seen some of the worse parts of life, was all the better to talk to.

"How has business been treating you?"

The man ignored Napoleon at first, and then slowly dragged himself out of his pitcher of ale. He had mean, tired eyes, filled with resentment towards the entire world.

"What does it matter to you?"

"I'm out of town, haven't been in for a while. I'd like to hear how things have been going."

"Huh."

The man idly swirled his pitcher, then turned back on Napoleon, his air of resentment not abating in the slightest.

"Goddamn nobles." He snarled. "Stealing my pamphlets, leaving me with nothing. Honest printers can't get a day's work these days."

"You're a printer then?"

The man straightened up in response to the inquiry.

"Damn straight! Heh, nice to meet you, mate. Name's Andre Giono. Used to be one of the best printers in all of Tristan, wrote all about all sorts of things and helped people know what was going on. Then I decide to print some pamphlets on how that noble Chillan was a corrupt bastard who overtaxed everyone, and he threw me out of business and into jail for a while! I'm a printer without a job, whom no one wants to work with. How pathetic is that?"

The printer took another swig of the nasty ale while Napoleon watched.

"You don't like Chilan?"

Giono's eyes perked up with rage.

"Hell no! Chilan can die and all the nobles can go to hell!"

"Couldn't you get in trouble for saying something like that?"

"Why do you care? Hell, why does anyone care for each other these days?"

As the printer grumbled, Napoleon motioned to the bartender of a cup of their finest ale, and then slid it over to the printer whose face was currently planted on the bar.

"There's no reason why commoners can't help each other out. Here's something to show that."

"Thanks, you….."

"Bonaparte. Name's Napoleon Bonaparte. I'm just a soldier."

"Bonaparte? Ugh, your name's too long, I'll call you Boney. Yeah, that's funny."

The printer laughed without any trace of humor, and while Napoleon inwardly seethed with rage at someone mentioning _that_ name, he kept calm. Giono chugged down the expensive ale, only pausing to wipe his lips. He eventually set down the pitcher with a sigh of satisfaction before clapping Bonaparte on the shoulder.

"Anyway, thanks for the drink. You're a good person, Boney. Stop by my business sometime, I guess I can help you out."

Giono gave a sarcastic laugh as he lurched off his seat and out of the bar. After watching him leave, Napoleon got up and began to talk with the other patrons about certain ideas. Some of them listened with fascination about the idea of liberty and equality; others pooh-poohed it as a hopeless fantasy. But the fact that there was conversation was enough. As he strode off back into the room where his partner lay sleeping, he grinned to himself.

"This is just the beginning."

…

"Dammit"

The legendary thief Fouquet ground her teeth as she looked at the castle walls. She had been "commissioned" to steal a legendary artifact known as the Staff of Destruction, and had learned by charming Professor Colbert that the Academy's treasury could be broken down with enough physical force. While that was something which her golems could do easily, that then created the problem of getting her magical constructs through the castle walls.

"Pitiful spells won't do against this thing. It needs stronger magic or force to be broken through. But I don't think I have anything like that."

She muttered those words to herself as a way of keeping herself calm as she analyzed the situation. She knew that she couldn't stay out here too long. Every second she remained here as the legendary thief and not as the hypercompetent secretary Miss Longueville was one where she risked capture. But as far as she could see, there was no direct way into the treasury. The walls were simply too thick for someone of her ability. It would take powerful magic, an incredible stroke of luck, or possibly both in order for one mage to break this wall down.

She couldn't stop thinking. If she stopped thinking, it would mean she lost. Losing would mean that her superiors would strike. They wouldn't destroy her, no. They would just destroy the orphanage and her half-sister, the only things in the world she truly valued. And she couldn't accept that. She'd still steal anything to save them. She'd kill anything to preserve that place's happiness for just another day.

Wait a second.

Fouquet's grim and determined expression slowly crept into a smile. It was a vicious smile which did not have a place on such a lovely face, but it remained anyways. She realized that there was a way to get the Staff out of the vault after all. This stratagem was fairly dangerous, but given the stakes she was playing with? She really was someone whom had nothing to lose.

And those people were always the most dangerous of all.


	5. The Fool: Chapter 4

"_Besiege Wei to rescue Zhao"_

_-_Second of the Thirty-Six Stratagems.

…

…

Guiche de Gramont sighed as he turned in his bed. Montmorency was getting far more suspicious these days, and so was Katie. A few days, the two had confronted him about their suspicions that he was cheating on both of them, but someone as brilliant as himself could talk himself out of nearly anything. Still, he knew that it couldn't last forever. Obviously, his fragrant Montmorency was a better specimen, but why couldn't she understand the mysteries of love? It was truly disappointing that such a beautiful flower like her could not understand how people like him sought beauty not just in a single place, but wherever they could go.

But as he continued to think, he couldn't help but think about the Valliere girl. Not in that way – she was nowhere near properly developed for a man with as refined tastes as himself. But one couldn't help but observe that the rumors about her were growing worse these days. While Kirche may have always complained about the fact that Louise was undoubtedly using her family connections to keep herself from kicked out of this prestigious academy, none of the students had really much heed to those claims. The Vallieres and the von Zerbsts had been bickering for generation. Guiche didn't know what it was about, and there was part of him that wondered if they even knew. Besides, Kirche's complaints were pointless. If every student in this school whom was hiding behind their family name to some degree was removed, at least a third of this school would disappear.

But the discussions had gotten a lot worse these days after the Familiar Summoning Ritual. Kirche wouldn't shut up these days about how Louise had somehow managed to sneak that strange commoner into the Academy, but some of the other students had also wondered about how odd her summoning had been. After trying over and over again, she summoned an ordinary human out of the blue? True, the reaction of Colbert to that familiar had prevented everyone from jeering at it, and everyone had for a time wondered whether Louise had summoned some legendary monster as opposed to a commoner. But Guiche had actually spent some time watching that familiar, and there was nothing incredibly unusual about him. He read a lot, walked around a lot, and talked to his master. But he didn't do anything stupendous like summon enormous plants or create magical swords. He really was a completely ordinary commoner. To top it off, that man's master had proven herself to be just as incompetent of a mage as ever. Guiche had found how she failed in a stupendous way amusing at first, but now everyone he knew was tired of it and her. Having to stay behind to clean up the class was no fun for anyone.

Well, he thought, it didn't really matter to him. The two may share the same class, but they really didn't talk that often, and he really only considered Louise an acquaintance as opposed to a friend. He took a last glance at his lovely familiar; a mole named Verandi which squeaked at him, before he pulled the covers over himself and began to drift off to sleep.

BANG BANG BANG

Of course, it was right then that someone began to incessantly hammer on the door to the boy's dormitories. For Brimir's sake, Guiche wondered. Couldn't he get some time without being harassed?

However much he wished for it to go away, the hammering did not stop. Guiche decided that he had no choice but to head out and deal with the idiot outside. It was probably Malicorne who wanted to sneak to the kitchens and stuff his face some more, the fat slob.

He noticed other of his fellow students stumbling out of their rooms, but it was an extremely tired and angry Guiche who fumbled with the doorknob and swung the large oaken door forward.

"For Brimir's sake Malicorne what the-"

He abruptly stopped. It wasn't Malicorne. Miss Longueville was outside. She was clearly panting, and it appeared that she had been running quite hard.

"Miss Longueville?"

She had to stop and catch her breath, she was running so hard. Guiche couldn't help but observe the sweat that was dripping down her neck.

"There's – been – an attack."

Guiche's eyes widened in shock.

"What?"

"There's a golem – a big one – that's pounding at the castle walls. Osmond's dealing with it, but he wants us to get you to a safer place, the Main Hall, just in case the worst happens."

There was a rush of muttering through the crowd in response to these words. However, one student raised his hand.

"I don't hear a golem attacking."

Longueville seemed to have caught her breath and raised her head up.

"Osmond has probably chased it into the forest. But we can't take chances. We need to get you to the Main Hall until the all clear is given."

There was a stir of rumblings, with some of the students expressing concern about the girls.

"Colbert will be dealing with the girls. They'll be safe, I promise you. Now please, follow me!"

Perhaps if the male students had thought about it harder, they would have realized that something was amiss. They would have thought about how odd it was that only Miss Longueville had appeared, and how she told them that they shouldn't bring their wands as it could attract the golem, and also that Longueville dealt with the boys and Colbert the girls rather than the other way around. But they were young noblemen, people whom were particularly trained to follow orders, especially one who looked as sincere as Longueville. So as she walked off to the Main Hall, they collectively followed, without mind or reason, basely obeying their instincts that told them to unquestioningly follow their social superiors.

…

Osmond jolted awake from his desk on hearing several loud thuds. They seemed to be coming downstairs from the Main Hall or something. What was going on? This was not a region which regularly received earthquakes, especially something this loud. There was also something strange about it, something which caused his hairs to stand up on end. As the head of the Academy, he needed to investigate.

The headmaster hurried out of the office, only to crash into someone, sending both of them sprawling.

"Who is it? Oh, sorry headmaster. You heard the loud noise, did you not?"

Osmond opened one of his eyes as he recognized the voice of the other person. It was Colbert. Apparently the two had bumped heads, and the bald professor gingerly was rubbing his face. Still, the bad feeling that Osmond had caused him to focus on the noises.

"It was coming from the Main Hall, correct?"

Colbert nodded at those words.

"We need to head there at once. I think something terribly wrong has happened."

The two men headed down to the front entrance of the Hall, only to stop. The doors were closed. But what surprised them was that Miss Longueville was slouched down on a wall next to the doors. She appeared to be resting alone. Was she hurt?

"Miss Longueville! Are you alright?"

Upon hearing Colbert's shout, her eyes shot up in surprise. Her hands quickly reached for her hair, and she was clearly upset as she felt her head for something.

"Shit, shit, shit, I forgot the hood; I forgot to put it on! I knew this spell was too mentally taxing on me, I'm forgetting the little things, important things."

The two men gazed perplexedly at her. There was clearly something wrong here, but somehow they knew that they shouldn't advance any further. Fouquet abruptly stopped running her hands through her long green hair, and then broke out with a clear, vicious laugh.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA. Well, I had figured that I would probably give away my identity anyways. Good evening, Osmond, Colbert. I, the person you know as Miss Longueville, am Fouquet."

"What?"

Fouquet smiled at their shocked inquiry.

"I don't really have any time for 20 questions, you know. But now that you know whom I am, Colbert, you know why I was asking about the treasury's weakness the other day?"

Colbert sighed in response.

"I had thought it was an odd question, but there was nothing I could do. I said the weakness of the Treasury was physical force like a golem, something which would be trivially easy to make for an Earth mage like you. But if you had succeeded in stealing from the Treasury, you wouldn't be here, but you would rather focus on escaping from us. If I had to guess, you weren't able to break in, correct?"

"Always the perceptive one, Professor. I guess it's why you enjoy those little toys you make."

Fouquet smiled as she raised her wand.

"Anyways, you're right. My golems are useless. I could get into the treasury with them, but I can't get those constructions past the castle walls. I spent the early part of the night trying.

So you're going to open the vault for me, Osmond."

The headmaster visibly blanched at the idea. The ancient treasury of the Academy held many wonders, most notably the Staff of Destruction. To let an ancient thief like herself obtain such an artifact would be terrible indeed, both for the security of Tristain and for this Academy's reputation. However, his train of thought was quickly cut off by Colbert as he stepped towards the master thief.

"You can't beat both me and Osmond with your magic, and everyone here knows it. So you have some sort of plan that will cause Osmond to open the vault, right?"

"Of course I do."

Longueville flicked her wand, and the great doors of the Main Hall opened. Osmond and Colbert first looked at what was inside in confusion. Then they gasped in horror as the elder Headmaster dropped his wand out of surprise.

The great double doors were 4 meters tall and wide. They were imposing works of construction, taller than any human or even a troll. But the doors were blocked, covered by a giant wall of dirt.

Fouquet leered at their horror and realization.

"That's right. The entire Great Hall is covered with a wall of dirt 4 meters high. And it's entombed every single one of your male students. Don't worry. They have each their own separate enclosed compartment, all 62 of them."

Colbert's voice openly trembled as he retorted.

"You…. Bitch…."

Fouquet's grin never faded as she raised her hand. Even in his cold rage, Colbert noted that the hand shook as she extended a couple fingers.

"Well, there are a couple options that you have. You could attack and kill me. But then I'll make the dirt collapse on itself before I die, and kill all of your students. That'll do wonders for your academy's reputation.

You could do nothing. This is a pretty tough spell to maintain. I can probably keep it up only for another 20 minutes, perhaps, and then I'll probably collapse from overexertion and die. Of course, each compartment only has enough air for another 10 minutes at this point, so that could be a problem for the health of your students.

Or you can get down to the Vault, give me the Staff of Destruction, and I'll be on my way, never to return. No tricks. I know what it looks like.

So, what do you say?"

Osmond fidgeted and flustered, while Colbert spoke up.

"We can't open the vault, instantly. It'll take time."

"Well, I suggest you take off quickly then."

Osmond looked at Colbert, and the latter gave a nod. The headmaster stumbled at first, and then quickly raced towards the vault. Colbert chose to stay and watch the thief, and both of them slumped against the opposite ends of the hallway leading to the Main Wall.

"Now that Old Osmond is gone, we can talk. What exactly is going on, Longueville?"

Longueville was panting, but she lifted her head up in response to the question.

"Whatever do you mean?"

"The Staff of Destruction is indeed very valuable, and for a thief to attempt to go and steal it is one thing. But to reveal your identity, and take this many hostages, just on the chance that we'll accept that deal….

You don't actually want the Staff of Destruction, do you?"

"What?"

He ignored Longueville's shocked expression and continued.

"Someone else needs it, and you're getting it for him. He likely has something you hold valuable in return. So he's doing the same thing to you that you're doing to us. That's the only reason I can think of that you would pull such a desperate tactic. This is especially so since you have a nice job, Osmond's little perverted hijinks aside.

If I think about it, Longueville, you've been here for a few months, but neither Osmond nor I really bothered to know anything about you. I don't know what you like, whether you have a family, what you hold important, anything like that. I should apologize for that. That's not how one should behave towards people who work for us."

The thief gave a harsh chuckle as she tightly gripped her wand.

"Are you trying to make me feel pity? It won't work, you know!"

"I know that. You have too much to lose if you feel such things. But I really am sorry. Perhaps we could have helped you."

Colbert sighed. The two hadn't actually been looking at each other during their conversation, but now his eyes moved towards her face.

"We could still, you know."

"Shut up! You don't know anything, you can't help me! I'll sink to the lowest depths to save them; don't act like a teacher who's kept his hands clean his whole life could ever understand my problems!"

What irony, Colbert thought. He didn't know anything about her, which had led to this disaster. And she didn't know anything about him, about the life he had led before being a teacher, which prevented her from speaking to them. If either of them had opened up, Colbert inwardly speculated, perhaps this never would have happened.

The two lapsed into silence. Colbert noted that she was beginning to breathe harder and harder as time passed on. But at the eight minute mark, Osmond appeared, his hands clutching a long, tubular box. Fouquet abruptly raised her non-wand hand as she looked at him.

"Stop right there."

Osmond had intended it to hand it to her, but the thief wasn't about to take any chances.

"Colbert, take the box. Slide it over to me."

As the balding wizard complied with her request, Longueville continued to speak.

"I'll head over to the wall and escape from there. Only then am I going to undo the spell on the Main Hall. If you tamper with it, I'll collapse it immediately."

"You won't make it in time! They'll run out of air!"

"Oh, they can go without air for one or two minutes. It'll be the first time any of those precious noblemen have suffered anyways."

She grabbed the staff and ran towards the entrance, sweat beading down her face. Colbert turned towards Osmond.

"Headmaster, I'll deal with Fouquet. Just get some water mages ready to take care of them, and make sure the teachers and the girls are safe."

Osmond blankly stared in the direction of the escaping thief, but Colbert then shook his shoulders. The gesture caused the old man to splutter for a bit, before he vigorously nodded at Colbert's request.

"Yes, yes, of course I will. Stay safe, Colbert. May Brimir watch over you."

Osmond began to run to get some of the other teachers, and Colbert then began to follow Fouquet. As he exited the Main Hall, he saw that she was climbing the castle walls, the box containing the Staff slung over her back. She was already nearly at the top, though she stopped for a second upon seeing Colbert before she continued.

"Now why are you following me, Colbert?"

Colbert pointed his wand at Fouquet as he responded.

"I need to make sure you'll keep your end of the bargain, Longueville!"

"You need to stop calling me that. I'll definitely fulfill it as long as you stop pointing that at me. I've already told you this spell is dangerous to me, and I do want to live."

Colbert lowered his wand at her words, only to watch as Fouquet continued to climb. He did not attempt to follow her, and instead he watched her from a distance. Shortly, she finished her climb and stood on top of the wall.

"You should leave now, Colbert. I don't want to kill less people then I have to. Besides, shouldn't you be checking on the others?"

"Others?"

The tone of Colbert's voice dropped sharply on hearing that sentence, and he once again saw the evil grin on Longueville's face.

"I was shocked that someone as observant as you didn't notice it, Colbert. You weren't the only two who heard that noise coming from the Main Hall, you know. And you know your male students are trapped in the Main Hall.

_So what happened to everyone else?_"

Even as exhausted as she was, Fouquet couldn't help but enjoy herself with that reveal. Colbert's normally ruddy face had turned as pale as snow.

"You…didn't… 'less people than I have to'….."

"Don't worry. I didn't deal with the female students at all. Most of them would have had less trouble trusting me than the male students, but Tabitha would have been a problem. I think you know there's a lot more to that girl than meets the eye.

The other teachers, however…"

Colbert didn't bother to listen to the rest as he sprinted off. Fouquet continued to stand on the top of the wall, and after she saw him enter the building, she pointed her wand at the Main Hall and undid the spell. She had fudged the truth when she thought about it. She had been slightly generous when she said that the students would have enough air for 10 minutes. Some of the smaller students, the first years, would have lasted that long and thus while they would have been highly uncomfortable for a while, they would recover.

The others? It would depend. She could tell from examining those whom were trapped in her spell that at least Malicorne, due to his bigger size, was probably irreversibly brain-damaged, but she didn't think anyone would actually die. And there was that little problem with Mrs. Chevreuse. She had bumped into the professor when she was preparing the first steps of her earth spell, but that kind lady had never suspected a thing. She had nearly sliced her in two with a surprise attack of earth, and had dragged the corpse to her office. She wondered how Colbert would react when he saw her corpse, and couldn't help but think about whether he had ever seen a fresh corpse before.

Still, it's not like she was safe. Stealing the Staff of Destruction in and of itself would likely have sounded the alarm, but given what she did do, and the fact that she revealed her true identity, she needed to get out of Tristain, and fast. Her client was waiting, and the safety of her beloved orphanage and half-sister with it.

As she summoned and mounted her personal golem, she collapsed on its shoulder. What she had done was an amazing spell for a triangle-class mage, and someone with less determination would have indeed died. Still, she thought as the giant beast began its march, she would desperately need to rest for a while.

…

It was still dark as Napoleon arose. Louise had not enough money for both of them to stay in separate rooms, but it didn't bother him. Louise had asked that he sleep in her room, but he would rather sleep under the stars than on a pathetic bed of straw. But to sleep indoors was a nice change every now and then.

He walked over to the window and looked out on the massive city of Tristania. The talk with the people yesterday had been important. It was clear that the princess, their ruler, was incredibly popular, as not a single person spoke the slightest ill about her. But the opinion of the nobility was a different matter. Most people held those people as slimy, evil bastards, people who kept the princess from knowing about the corruption within her kingdom. They believed that if Henrietta actually learned about any of their problems, she would fix it. He couldn't but feel bemused by such a naïve idea.

Still, their veneration towards Henrietta was a problem even bigger than the magic which all the nobles possessed. Napoleon knew better than anyone else the luck which had been so necessary for him to seize his destiny. If he had grown up under a better Bourbon monarch, there would have been no Revolution, and he likely would have ended his days a lonely captain, commanding a small garrison in some remote outpost in the Americas. If he was going to accomplish his goals of revolution and power, he needed turmoil, whether internal or external. It was only these periods that true men of ability like him would be able to seize power.

He would wait. His chance would come, he was absolutely certain. He was already working on simply learning and becoming known among the people. He needed an opportunity to appear, one that he knew would arrive sooner rather than later.

For now, his partner needed to wake up. They would return to the Academy, and he would figure out their magic as well as hers. There probably wouldn't be much chaos over the next few days, which would represent a good opportunity for that to occur.


	6. The Fool: Chapter 5

"_It might perhaps be answered that we should wish to be both: but since love and fear can hardly exist together, if we must choose between them, it is far safer to be feared than loved._"  
>- Machiavelli<p>

...

...

Osmond sighed as he slouched back in his desk. This was a disaster. A complete and utter disaster. The Academy had lost one of, if not its most famous artifact in the Staff of Destruction as a result of Fouquet's attack, and apparently she had attacked and killed Mrs. Chevreuse in the process, as they found her walking the hallways. It appeared that she had ran into Fouquet sometime during the night, and her now permanently shocked expression revealed that she never knew what hit her.

And that wasn't the worst of it. All of the trapped students had been recovered with no deaths. But that did not mean there were no injuries. Malicorne was alive, but as Osmond thought back to his state, perhaps he would have been better off if he had not been rescued. He was no longer capable of either walking or giving off proper speech, and he shown no sign of recognition on seeing Osmond. He would be an invalid, a major blow to the Grandple family. There were two other cases, both third-years that were similar though not as severe, and everyone was naturally severely traumatized by their ordeal. And the Academy would have to answer for this.

After rescuing the trapped male students, he, Colbert, and some of the other staff had immediately set off to check the security of the female students. It seemed that they were unharmed, and had decided to remain where there were after hearing the noises. Naturally, many panicked upon hearing what had indeed happened. The girl Montmorency had screamed, and even now he could recall her grief-stricken expression as she hugged the Gramont boy, whom had remained fine.

There still remained the problem of the Valliere girl. Apparently she had set off with her familiar to Tristania to go shopping, but had not returned. Classes were obviously cancelled until further notice given the circumstances, but he would make sure that he would send a search party if she had not returned by tomorrow afternoon.

He had avoided getting the royal court involved when that girl had summoned her familiar. But now he had no choice. There was little doubt that many of the noble families would make hunting down Fouquet their absolute number one priority, and they would doubtless blame the old man and his incompetence for his disaster. He would have to accept that there was a significant chance that he would be relieved from his post. Hopefully, he could get Colbert to replace him, though he might shoulder the blame – the fact that he took off to help the students without seeing which direction Fouquet had headed in with her golem would also cause some of the families to direct their rage towards him.

The princess and her guards would be arriving soon, possibly tomorrow. For now, he might as well go to sleep, without any "extracurricular activities" with his mouse and crystal ball. It could possibly be the last time he would sleep in it.

...

"Do you mind if I ask you something, Bonaparte?"

He looked back at his partner behind him and grunted in assent. They had finally managed to escape that supposed inn and its hellish master, and were now riding back to the Academy. Derflinger was strapped to his side, and he smiled to himself when he thought about how little he valued cavalrymen in general. If he was wearing a proper military uniform rather than some overbearing cloak and robes, one might have thought he was one of those arrogant horse soldiers.

"You told me that you ruled the entire world, right?"

"Yes?"

"Do you miss it? Your old world, I mean?"

No need to answer that question. It was always better not to give information unless necessary.

"That's an odd question, given that you summoned me. Why are you asking?"

Louise seemed to be avoiding his eyes as she gave her response.

"You ruled the world, right? But because I summoned you, now you're just a partner with a failure of a mage like me. I was thinking, don't you hate me for taking all that away from you?"

Napoleon was honestly surprised. She actually thought about the implications of the summoning ritual, of taking someone or something away from their home.

"First off, as I've told you, you're not a fail- "

"That's enough!"

Louise's tone switched from sorrow to anger.

"I don't need your pity, Bonaparte! So what if I summoned you, I'm still a failure, I can't cast spells like anyone can even after the ritual! I'm still being laughed at, Kirche continues to rant on how I cheated to get you, and I haven't done anything right! Even if you were so great that you ruled the world, don't give me your mercy!"

"BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Napoleon broke out into laughter. It was base, hysterical, unrestrained. And Louise's heart flared up in anger.

"Now you're laughing at me, partner?"

Because he was laughing so hard, he had been forced to stop his horse. He once again stared at Louise, with little guffaws breaking out in between his words.

"Pity? Mercy? Was that a joke, Valliere? Do you honestly think that an Emperor can display such sentiments?"

"What?"

Louise spoke up in shock. Of course a ruler must have mercy! Was not Henrietta, whom was so perfectly beloved by everyone in Tristain, an example of that?

"Oh, I showed mercy to my enemies, to induce them to surrender and accept my authority. But to my people? No, I never showed them mercy, Valliere. I drove them without even a slightest drop of it. I pushed them to reach heights where no one had dreamed of reaching, I taught them to charge at the enemy and face certain death without even the slightest instance of fear. And I always berated them, always challenged them to do better and better.

When I was a young general on one of my first campaigns, there was a bridge that needed to be taken. The enemy had heavily defended it. What did I do? I ordered a frontal assault, an attack which I knew and which my men knew would result in great casualties. But they obeyed, because they did not want to fail me. The bridge was taken, and we drove them off. That was the moment when I knew my destiny was to seize the world.

If the men had viewed me as a man of mercy, they would not have charged that bridge, they would have believed that I would forgive them for their failures. A normal commander would have failed to take it."

Louise simply stared in disbelief at Napoleon. It was so apparent that he truly was from a different world, as his ideals of ruling were so contrary to everything she had been taught from her mother and Henrietta.

"Thus, if I believe you are great, I will say so. And Valliere, if I believed that you were a pathetic failure of a mage, I would tell you that. But even then, I would not let you cower in fear because of your failures. If you summoned me, Valliere, then no doubt you wished for greatness. I will bring that to you, but only if you can bring me the will that shows you want it!"

But he was right. That was what she had wished for, when she had cried out for Brimir to give her a demon. There were days when she wondered if he was indeed one. But even if he was, he knew her, and she knew that in this statement, he was absolutely telling the truth.

Napoleon kicked his horse, and as they took off again, he continued to talk.

"Furthermore, I also have an idea on why you've been messing up with your magic. Something this sword over here told me. Apparently I'm not the first humanoid summoning."

"What?"

As Louise gasped at his words, Derflinger took the opportunity to jump in.

"That's right. I used to be under Brimir, whom had…. One, yeah one familiar. An elf named Sasha!"

"W-w-w-wait a moment, are you implying that I'm using the same magic as Brimir? But that's Void magic! I can't be a Void mage, it's a dead magic, one that hasn't been around for years!"

Napoleon raised his hand as he spoke up in response to Louise's denials.

"Why not? I may know nothing about Void Magic, but it clearly makes sense to me. You clearly possess some magic – Siesta isn't capable of causing explosions after all. And you've tried these other elements. Void makes the most sense to me.

Perhaps we can talk to your headmaster when we can get back. I can see the castle from here, and we'll probably get there in about 20 minutes. I'm sure he'll have the time to deal with a familiar's inquiries."

...

Two hours later, Napoleon sighed as he sat down across from Osmond and Colbert, whom was still giving off a hostile aura, though to a lesser degree. Maybe the air was different in this land, because things never kept going the way they were supposed to in this world.

Louise was in the girl's dormitories. There were no classes, but the students were to remain in their living quarters until further notice. Osmond and Colbert had been outraged upon their arrival, and after an incredible haranguing about their whereabouts, the pair of familiar and mage had found out about everything that had happened. Afterwards, Louise had told Napoleon that she needed to be with one of the other mages, Montmorency, to make sure she was alright from the tragedy. And he had decided to confront the headmaster about what he had noticed. Derflinger was left back in Louise's room, as he didn't want the sword to say anything inopportune.

"We should attempt to make this short. The princess and a squadron of guards will be arriving shortly to protect this place. They'll probably come to relieve me as well, though perhaps Brimir will protect me."

"Well, then I perhaps I should stay. I would dearly love to meet the ruler of this realm."

Osmond looked up in response to that statement.

"It's as I suspected. You're not from Helgekinia, or even this world, are you?"

Napoleon gave no response, which both men knew was a tacit confirmation. The headmaster rubbed his eyes and spoke up.

"That girl really summoned a strange servant. "

"Partner."

"Excuse me?"

The Emperor's expression never broke as he continued past Osmond's inquiry.

"I said partner. I introduced myself as the Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte. I am – was – the ruler of the entire world until I was summoned. I do not serve anyone or anything. The fact that I am choosing to be equals with Valliere is enough of a sign of my graciousness.

But that is for the moment, unimportant. I came to speak about that girl and her magic. What would you say about the possibility that she is a Void mage?"

"How did you come to that conclusion?"

"That is also unimportant. I am interested in your response."

Osmond grimaced at how Napoleon deflected his question, before speaking.

"Do you have a weapon on you?"

Napoleon had a guess about Osmond was after, and deftly pulled out the flintlock pistol with his left hand. Just as it had done on that night, the strange markings started glowing.

"It appears that you were right, Colbert. Those are the runes of Gandalfr."

"Gandalfr?"

It was Colbert whom spoke up to Napoleon's inquiry.

"He was one of the legendary Brimir's familiars. Gandalfr, the Left Hand of God, was someone who could instantly learn how to wield any weapon he grasped. It was a familiar whom could protect Brimir as he casted his Void magic."

"So, Brimir was a Void mage."

"Correct."

"Meaning that Louise is most likely one."

"Yes."

Silence followed that simple yet profound statement by Osmond. Colbert was the one who decided to follow up on him.

"It is probably best that Louise herself knows, but no one else. It's for her safety. She'll be used by the crown until she's a husk if they find out her power."

"Well, that's surprising. Given the way everyone's talked about this princess and her mercy and justice, I'm surprised she would do such a thing. And Louise doesn't need or want protection. She wants self-respect."

Colbert narrowed his eyes. The familiar had said the exact same words Osmond had used when he had talked about the necessity of the crown intervening about the girl. But after the disaster with Fouquet, he wished that the Headmaster had heeded his advice.

"I'll respect her, as she's my partner. It'll be her decision whether she wants to reveal it. Now, why don't we talk about exactly it entails to become a Void Mage?"

...

Princess Henrietta de Tristain gave an unhappy smile as she crossed the threshold of the Academy. She had never entered the place before, and she had always hoped for a chance to meet her old friend Louise again. Louise had been a playmate to the princess, and so Henrietta always considered the Valliere girl to be her closest friend and confidant.

But this wasn't the time for her own, personal wishes, though she knew with a heart grateful to Brimir that Louise had not been harmed. A place as valuable as the Academy that had just been attacked meant that it would be necessary to post guards here on a regular basis, and all the more so given that she was here temporarily. Agnes, the captain of her Musketeers, was already directing orders to the regular permanent guards about where they were to be posted. Later, she would hold a strategy meeting about how to track down and capture the great thief. This would be absolutely necessary given the anger of the nobles.

For now, she would talk with Osmond. The nobles had not hesitated in calling for his head, but she refused. As far as she was concerned, Osmond had done well enough in preventing the loss of further life, while someone whom was more concerned with protecting the Treasury might have risked the lives of all the students. Even the Staff of Destruction possessed no value compared to the lives of the nobility.

She swung the door open. There were three people there, all crowded among a text. She recognized two of them, Osmond the headmaster and the professor Colbert, both of whom dropped to one knee in the presence of the princess. The third person did not, even as he was dressed like a mage. He simply stared at her with a blank expression.

"You must be the princess."

Osmond and Colbert stared at the man with an expression of disbelief at the tone he had used. There was not the slightest hint of deference, something which took even the princess by surprise. However, he then abruptly gave a wonderful bow, with one that would have impressed her finest servants.

"My honor then, Princess Henrietta de Tristain. I am the Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte. I was summoned by the mage Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière to be her partner."

"Louise? You know her? Wait, you couldn't possibly be her familiar?"

"Partner, not familiar. I am no one's servant, princess."

Osmond and Colbert's expressions had not changed, and even Henrietta was taken aback. This man had called himself an Emperor, something which no ruler would dare. Only one whom had united all of Helgekinia and driven the elves out of the Holy Land would have the right to declare himself Emperor.

Napoleon began speaking again.

"I'm sure you have plenty to talk about with those two concerning this incident, so I shall take my leave."

He strode out of the office, but then stopped upon reaching the threshold.

"You seem to be familiar with my partner. Stop and talk with her. You can talk about whatever past you have with her….. And it would be nice for two rulers to have a conversation with one another."

It was not quite a command, but it was more than just a request. It was a statement given with authority, as if he expected her to obey. But he walked out before she could even give a response one way or the other. She didn't know what to make of the man, but it seemed apparent to her that the other two men didn't know either.

"Is that the man really Louise's familiar?"

Osmond shrugged in response.

"It appears so. He's always claimed to be an Emperor from the moment we summoned him. Anyways, Majesty, we must focus on our efforts to capture Fouquet."

"Yes. Yes, of course."

Henrietta took out a scroll of parchment and laid it on the desk. It was a map of the Academy and the surrounding areas.

"So, do we have absolutely any idea about Fouquet's current location?"

Colbert nodded.

"We do have some idea. A golem as large as hers will inevitably leave tracks, so it appears that Longueville – I mean Fouquet – disengaged it as soon as she deemed it was safe, about two miles to the southeast of the Academy. The problem is that it's been 18 hours since the incident. She's definitely had to rest for a long time at some point or another to recover from the intense spell she used and because I doubt she would go crashing around without her golem in the woods in the night, but that still means she's had at least 6 hours at this point to make her escape.

Fouquet will definitely be making her escape to the border, and it'll probably be to Gallia – given your upcoming marriage to the Germanian king, there is no reason whatsoever she would flee there. We also know that she was commissioned, or more likely forced to steal the staff by someone else whose identity remains unknown. We'll find that out when she's captured."

"What about Albion?"

"She'd need a ship to get there, and that will not happen."

Henrietta simply stared at Colbert's reassurance, and then came to a decision.

"I'll double, no triple, the guards at the ports. They are to find and inspect every single person who enters any of the ship. Fouquet will be heading to Albion."

Colbert looked towards her princess in surprise.

"Why do you say that?"

"She is a thief, someone outside the law. And what better places for someone like that to go than a place as chaotic as Albion? I'd also guess that her commissioner is an Albionese.

I'll tell Agnes about this myself, and she'll get them carried out. The ports are where we'll find and catch the thief and murderer."

...

"So, it appears that the chances are extremely high that you truly are a Void Mage."

Louise was currently crouched in a chair by the window of her room. Aside from pulling in her knees slightly further in, she gave no reaction.

"It appears that from what Osmond told me that Void is completely different. Your ordinary magic seems to work on a pattern of dot, line, triangle, and square, with the latter becoming the most powerful. And there are also four elements, wind, water, earth, and fire. Some mages have one element which they work on for maximum effect, while others have two which they can combine to work together. Kirche is the former, and Tabitha is the latter."

"Yeah, I know about all of that."

Napoleon was standing in front of the door, his back leaning against it. He chose to carry on while ignoring her mumblings.

"Void doesn't work like that, and from what we've seen from you, it fits. The problem then is that since there are no Void teachers, you'll have to figure out Void more or less by yourself."

"But that's ridiculous! I can't do such a thing!"

"Why can't you? Brimir did. I expect nothing less from my partner than that she will not equal Brimir, she will surpass Brimir. You'll figure it out. Besides, I already suspect you've already figured one Void spell out."

"What?"

Napoleon did not break a beat and continued.

"The only things you seem to be able to do are explosions. Whenever you try to create a spell, you end up making an explosion. The fact that you do it consistently, no matter what spell you're trying to cast, is the odd part. How do you know that your explosion isn't actually Void magic? I have no idea what Void magic would actually look like, after all.

So, rather than seeing your explosions as a sign of your failure to cast the spells of a normal mage, work to cast bigger and better explosions."

"But how do I do that?"

"I am not a mage, I do not know. That is something that a Void mage should be able to discover without difficulties.

Perhaps you should talk to Derflinger. You can speak from time to time, you know."

The sword rattled in response, but did not say a word. For whatever reason, it had remained generally silent ever since its conversation in the woods this morning, only pausing to make all sorts of ridiculous lewd jokes on seeing some of Louise's female classmates.

The two of them fell silent, only to be interrupted by a knock on the door. After glancing at Louise, Napoleon turned around and opened it.

"Well, this is a surprise. I had not expected you to drop by so early, Princess Henrietta de Tristain."

Louise sprang up, both at the presence of her old friend and the fact that Napoleon seemed to know her, while the Emperor gave off a smile which once again did not reach his eyes. To finally have a conversation with a true authority was something he would be looking forward to.


	7. The Fool: Chapter 6

"_As king, you must have stronger desires than anyone else. You must be more magnificent, more easily angered than everyone else! He should be both pure and chaotic, a man who was more real than any other man. Only through this, could your subjects be impressed by the king, and only this, would the message of 'if only I was king, that would be wondrous' would be imprinted upon the people's heart!"_

Servant Rider, Fate/Zero.

...

…

Napoleon gazed out at the stars as he sat at the top of the dormitories. They still unnerved him. Sure, the stars existed, and they would always exist. But the fact that they were in the completely wrong positions remained something which still struck him as wrong, as if something which should be there wasn't there. He wondered if the stars he was even looking at were even the same ones on Earth, or whether they were completely different.

He tore his gaze away from them, towards a bottle of wine he had procured from the chef Marteau, than at the princess whom was sitting next to him. She had been overjoyed to finally meet Louise, and had talked with her for quite a while, about little things, frivolous things like life in the Academy and their childhood adventures. Even a man whom was as used to violence as he was turned green when he heard about the incident involving a cat, Louise's spells, a box of toothpicks, and the chief maid of the Royal Palace whom had a serious things for chocolates. But even as Louise and Henrietta happily recalled the past, the princess looked at the emperor and both of them knew. As two rulers from completely separate worlds, they wanted to discuss their worlds and the nature of being a sovereign.

Napoleon opened the bottle, and poured a glass for both of them before taking a sip. It was one of the best bottles in the kitchen, a personal gift from Marteau whom had grown to like him. The red wine was rich and invigorating, though it was not quite comparable to some of the drinks he had partaken at his table at the height of his rule. Just as he was the first to drink, as the one whom was not ruling this land for the moment, he was the first to speak.

"Why are your courtiers not out at this hour looking for you? Given the security concerns that are part of this Academy, I would think they would be more cautious."

Henrietta giggled in response as she took a sip.

"I'm sure they are. But everyone here knows that Fouquet will not be coming back here. She'll be doing everything she can to get out of the country as quickly as possible. Besides, I do this fairly often. My chief bodyguard knows this, and she knows I'll return safely. I'm a capable mage in my own right, after all.

Besides, I'm curious to know about you. You claimed you ruled the entire world?"

Napoleon laughed without humor before answering. It would be degrading of himself to start by lying to another ruler.

"I told Louise that so she would believe me easier. I did once nearly rule the world. But I overreached. My armies were destroyed by a force powerful than any weapon, nature and snow, and then all of my subjects rose up against me. It was at the moment of my defeat that Louise summoned me. If she hadn't, I likely would have been forced into exile on some remote island."

"Then, why did your subjects rise up against you?"

"They were not my people, and unlike my people, never truly accepted my rule. They acquiesced because I had defeated them in battle, and the minutes my army weakened, they rose up against me and sought my defeat.

But I'll turn that to you. Louise and the common people I've talked to all seem to view you as a figure of justice. One who will right any wrongs that the nobility and the tax collectors commit.

But if the people love you that much, why not just get rid of the nobility? Why not rule directly, without their aid?"

"What are you talking? Why would I do that? Sure, some of the nobility are bad, but so are some commoners. A sovereign's role is to keep the peace, so that all the subjects may live happily."

Napoleon had closed his eyes in listening to the princess's response. After taking another drink, he opened one of them as he responded.

"What gives you the right to rule and keep the peace?"

"What?"

"Why you? Who made you the princess of this country?"

"I-I don't know what you're talking about. My mother was grieving after the death of my father, so I became the leader. That's all there it is."

"So, then why did you have to step in? Why not let another noble step in?"

"Because that is what is expected of me. As a member of the royal family, I am designated to rule."

"And who designated you?"

"Well then, what about you? Who made you the Emperor of your country, Bonaparte?"

"I did."

"….what?"

Henrietta nearly spilled the glass she was holding. The familiar had given she couldn't believe.

"I made myself Emperor. Me, my genius, and my will, caused my people to accept my absolute authority. I attempted to assert that authority over that world, and I came close to succeeding. That is all there is to say."

"But an Emperor is a holy figure! He is someone designated by Brimir to lead all the peoples against the elves, to take back the Holy Land! One can't take the crown of an emperor, it is given! What you're describing is just some petty conqueror, and you fit it perfectly! People like you can never truly obtain the loyalty of the people, and so you will fall, achieving absolutely nothing!"

Napoleon simply glanced at her, drained his glass, and stood up.

"I am terribly disappointed in you, princess."

"What?"

Henrietta stood up in outrage. She was prepared to insult the man for insulting her and the Crown before he continued.

"There were other monarchs in my realm. I had many enemies, but I did not have an equal – only when all of them united were they capable of surpassing me. I had honestly hoped, princess, that you would be an equal to my own will. I have been proven wrong."

He poured more wine into his glass, sniffed it, and continued.

"You can call me a petty conqueror, but you were given your rule, princess. The nobles and commoners were taught from the moment that they were born that they are to obey you, and so they did, without properly questioning why they should. You never earned your crown, whether through glorious deeds or a brilliant tongue like some of my fellow rulers or me. It was simply a very nice present given to you from your father before you, and one that he got it from his father.

You think you can keep your crown through peace, through a fair and just rule. You are utterly doomed to fail, princess, and especially so given the nature of your religion. If peace exists for too long, the noble and the people, with their immediate wants sated, will look at that Holy Land which your religion dictates must be claimed from these elves. And they will clamor for the drums of war. The aristocrats will do it all the more so, as they got their power through accomplishing great deeds, and they will seek to expand it by doing more of those deeds.

You will get war one way or the other, princess. Whether you manage to keep the peace through your Germanian alliance or not, all you'll do is suppress the passions for future martial glory and the desire to save their souls through holy works. And when you cannot suppress it any longer, it will explode with a great fire which will most likely destroy your regime. That is what will happen to you and your realm. War cannot be avoided, only delayed, and you will lose the ability to control when and how it will happen if you do delay it."

Napoleon finished his glance and walked to the door. He had figured out the nature of the ruler of Tristain, and what she had desired. She wished for an impossible dream, peace throughout Helgekinia and within her subjects, possibly throughout the world. Even if that wish wouldn't result in her destruction, the likely result that would occur if the future monarchs of Tristain kept pursuing ephemeral dreams of eternal peace would be the final destruction of their regime.

"Wait."

Her voice called as Napoleon's hand touched the doorknob. Henrietta was looking out towards him, and her voice was hollow and trembling.

"If you're saying that I can't search for peace… what should I be searching for as a ruler?"

A long silence followed as only the wind could be heard. Napoleon simply looked into her eyes.

"If you're saying that you don't know the answer to that question, towards what your objective as a ruler should be, then you're someone whom is truly unfit to rule, princess."

And with that, the Emperor turned the doorknob and headed down to the courtyard.

...

Agnes, the captain of her Majesty's personal musketeers, grumbled as she tramped up the stairs. The princess had vanished, and the guards were in a panic as usual, wondering about where she went and they had speculated that she may have been captured by Fouquet. The captain had intended to leave to track Fouquet during the night, but the insistence of the guards meant that she decided just to make sure that her Highness was safe before she left for the port of La Rochelle.

Seeking a high vantage point, she had climbed to the top of one of the five towers and looked everywhere below her to see if her keen eyes could locate the princess. She had utterly failed at that, and it was only when she looked forward that she realized that her Majesty was on the top of the tower across from her. The result was that Agnes was forced to climb down the tower she was in, walk across campus, and then she had to finally climb up another separate one in a second tower to make sure that everything was alright with her Majesty.

The princess had not moved from her position, her head tilted up at the night sky. Agnes instinctively shivered from the cold, and realized that the princess must be freezing as she was only wearing a royal dress. Taking off her cloak, she went up to her Majesty and draped it around her shoulders, which caused the princess to jump. It appeared that she had not noticed the captain in the slightest beforehand.

"A-Agnes?"

"Yes, your Majesty, I am here."

Agnes promptly knelt to one knee, her head looking down the ground. There was silence, which was disconcerting to the captain of the Musketeers, the personal royal bodyguard. Her Majesty normally would object to this degree of formality, but now she wasn't saying anything.

"Agnes."

"Yes, Majesty?"

"Why do you stay loyal to me?"

If it was not for her nerves, Agnes would have stood straight up at such a question. Instead, she kept her kneeling pose, awaiting her Highness's command to rise.

"Is something wrong, Majesty? You seem shaken up."

"Please, answer the question."

"You're my princess, Majesty. I am obligated to follow your orders to the very end. I swore an oath on it. If you ordered me to leap off this tower right now, I would do so instantly."

The princess gave a soft laugh at that.

"No, please don't do that. But, is just being the Princess enough? Would you follow anyone who was the ruler of this country?"

"No, Majesty. As I said, I made an oath to serve you. I will follow you under that oath until it is ended. That is all there is to it."

"But not everyone in this country has. Why do they follow me?"

Agnes could tell that something was incredibly wrong. The Princess was trembling as she asked these questions. And all the captain could do was answer them truthfully and honestly.

"I cannot see into the hearts of others, princess, so I do not know. But I do know this, if you are frightened about losing control."

She rose, and her strong hands gripped her Majesty's shoulders.

"I swore an oath to protect you. If there is anyone in this country you fear, I will strike it down. Even if I was told to fight Karin of the Heavy Wind, all the people in Helgekinia, I would do so. I will protect you, no matter what. This is my pledge of loyalty to you, and it is I will intend to fulfill for all eternity."

The princess said nothing, but it was clear that Agnes's words of trust caused something to crack. The burdens of ruling a country with absolute justness and fairness, only to be confronted with the harsh words of another great ruler whom had proclaimed the futility of her dream, caused her smiling face to disappear. She threw herself into the arms of Agnes and sobbed like a child. The captain was shocked for a moment, but now finding nothing better to do, she put her arms around the crying girl.

"You'll be safe, Princess. I will guarantee you that."

And with those words, she broke off the hug.

"Keep the cloak. I will be heading to La Rochelle now to track down and capture Fouquet. I will see you soon, your Majesty."

She gave a quick bow and strode off. Henrietta watched her go with an expression of trepidation on her face. To some degree, she was terrified of letting Agnes know, but given what she had just told her, she came to believe that she knew what she had to do. And so the princess came to a decision, one which would change the fates of nations and the lives of nearly everyone in Helgekinia.

"Agnes!"

The captain wheeled around and turned. Her Highness's voice had returned with authority and vigor, and there was not a trace of tears on her face. Her hand was within her dress.

"You will be going to La Rochelle, but not to track down Fouquet. I have a different mission for you."

As she pulled out an old love letter and a dazzling blue jewel, she worried about how Agnes would react about hearing the details about this love affair with Prince Wales. But at this point, there was no turning back.

"This is possibly the most important mission you will ever conduct for Tristain, and for me."

...

The curtains were pulled out, and Louise grunted, only to roll over at the sound of thunder.

"Whattimeisit~?"

"Time to get yourself out of bed. In light of what we've discussed last night, things are going to change here."

Last night? What had she been discussing with her partner last night?

Oh. Right. Void Magic.

Louise abruptly sat up forward, the sleepiness completely washed away from her. Napoleon was now sitting in a chair, holding a steaming mug of coffee from which he took a sip.

"If Void Magic is really as different as it seems to be, then your classes aren't going to be all that useful anymore. Besides, classes are still cancelled, and it looks like it will be for a while longer. So, you and I are going to train."

"Train? What? But how do we train if neither of us actually knows any of this Void Magic?"

"Who said anything about magic?"

"What?"

Napoleon paused to sip on his coffee. He then stuck a finger in the air and whirled it around, assuming the pose of a teacher.

"Valliere, why are you learning magic to begin with?"

"Isn't that obvious? Because it's the duty of nobles, and it shows that we're respected!"

"Wrong."

Again, Louise stared at how quickly Napoleon shot down that answer.

"You are learning magic to fight. You are learning so that your superior magic can defeat the magic of your enemies. How often do your parents, whom I'm guessing know magic, actually use magic in their everyday lives? How often do they use servants or other laborers to accomplish tasks which they could have done with their magic?"

"That's…"

"Exactly. So I will train you how to fight. You should feel honored, Valliere. The Emperor who conquered the world will teach you how to train yourself.

So we will start off with some physical exercise. In all the time I've been under your service, I've never seen you make any real attempt to train your body, which is completely unacceptable for a fighter. So we will begin by heading out and running for three miles after you're dressed."

"THREE MILES? Are you insane? In this weather?"

"I thought about doing five miles, but decided to accommodate you. And Valliere, I am nearly 50 years old. If you can't keep up with me, I will become incredibly disappointed. Now, let's move!"

...

The dockhand sighed as he looked at the giant line waiting to board _The Concord_. With the victory of the Reconquista, the aristocratic forces seeking to overthrow the monarchy, all but certain, refugees were seeking to return to their country. However, many of these people in their chaos had lost their papers, and so a brisk underground trade in counterfeit papers that would permit them to return to their country had erupted in this city of La Rochelle over the past few days. It also meant that the need for people to check for the proper documents had grown, a paranoia which had also increased in the light of some incident regarding the Tristain Academy where from what the dockhand had heard, a couple of students had died. It's not like it matters to him. Mage deaths were no concern to him anyways – nobles had their magic, but they never, ever used it for the commoners. Instead, they talked of the virtue of hard work and how those whom followed them and lived productive lives would be able to meet Brimir.

Still, a job was a job. He looked over the papers of a well-fed, overdressed nobleman and directed him to the upper decks, where those whom could pay would enjoy the air and sunshine as they flew to the floating continent of Albion.

The next group was a family of four. He quickly received the papers of the wife, the husband, and a son, but then he pointed to the daughter, a girl of around 11.

"Her papers, please."

The father quickly fidgeted, unwilling to look him in the eye.

"Please, sir, she lost them in the crisis and as we fled the village. Everyone else has their papers and if we can just get her on, we'll be a family together. It'll be no bother to you."

"You're the fifth group that's tried that within the last three hours. And most of the time, you're just smuggling someone for another hand, or maybe she's a friend of a friend. Either ways, orders are orders. No papers, she stays.

"No, no no! I want to go with Daddy! Daddy, don't leave me!"

The family quickly discussed things among themselves while the dockhand impatiently tapped his feet and the line grew restless at their crying. After discussion, the father chose to stay behind with his daughter, while the wife and son went on ahead. After much hugging and crying, the two went on ahead while the rest of the family left, with plans to do…. Well, something. It wasn't part of his job to think about that.

The next person stepped forward. She was a well-dressed woman, with striking green air and vibrant eyes, and who seemed strangely familiar. She coolly handed the documents forward.

"Name?"

"Matilda Saxe-Goth."

He felt the dockhands, and then stopped. It felt odd, and a little different from the other documents. Could it be….?

The dockhand seized a quill pen which was lying around for just this purpose and stabbed it. A small hole appeared in the travel document. Official documents were made of special materials which were too thick to be stabbed by a quill pen.

He looked up, and then realized the woman had taken off. And then he glanced at a Wanted Poster and realized who "Matilda Saxe-Goth" was.

"Guards! Guards! It's Fouquet! Catch her!"

The nearby guards, five commoners armed with halberds, caught side of the woman and took off. They knew this area extremely well, and her vibrant green hair made spotting her easy within the crowd. Without looking behind her, she fired off spikes of earth, but they were aimed wildly, and one woman screamed as a spike took off her right arm. Nevertheless, the guards continued, and Fouquet darted down an alley-way, one which they knew would eventually lead to a dead end.

However, she had not even taken ten steps into the alley before she was violently slammed into the ground by an invisible force. The guards leapt back as a griffin landed on top of the thief.

The rider of the griffin leapt off of his mount. He wore a spectacular wide-brimmed hat, and while his hair was grey, it was clear that he was not yet 35. The eyes were sharp and piercing, and his green clothing somehow matched him perfectly without being garish in the slightest. Every member of the guards knew who he was.

"Captain!"

"Now, now, gentlemen, it's Wardes. Are you people unhurt? I didn't mean my wind spell to be that powerful. Still, you men did a good job in cornering this scumbag."

The men shook their heads, and their hearts filled with pride with the acknowledgement they had received. The captain of Tristain's Griffin Knights had a high reputation even among commoners, and he was known not to be like many nobles whom would take all the credit for the capture without even acknowledging the efforts of those below them.

"I'll take this murderer to the prison. I'll make sure to inform your captain of your great efforts. Now, dismissed!"

As the guards saluted and left, Wardes turned to the thief whom was still clutched in the talons of his beloved griffin.

"Did you really intentionally do use fake documents just to find me?" He asked. "You could have just sent a letter, you know."

The thief gave a mocking grin up towards the captain.

"We both know you love to play the hero. How could I pass up the opportunity to please you? Now get your damned bird off me, and I'll get the Staff of Destruction out of its hiding spot."

As Wardes gave the order to his griffin, the two gave a wicked grin towards each other as they went off downs the alleyway, to the location where she had hidden the magical artifact after entering the port city. A short while later, commoners could be seen pointing as a griffin flew off towards the sky, heading in the direction of Albion. However, as Wardes had used a wind spell to shield himself, they could not see who was on it, something which many people would regret in the days to come.


	8. The Fool: Chapter 7

"_The education of a man is never complete until he dies."_

-Robert E. Lee

...

...

Once upon a time, there was a girl. A girl who was tired of her nickname of "Zero", she sought power in order to live up to her proud family name. On the day of her summoning, she declared that she was prepared to sacrifice anyone, do anything, and she truly had meant it inside her heart. The depths of hell were nothing to this girl who wished to go and seize her destiny beyond the stars.

Now, as she lay in the courtyard, with her legs burning and her heart ready to give out, she thought that maybe it hadn't been such a good idea after all.

Napoleon sat on the grass, watching her recover from their run. Honestly, she was doing better than he had expected her to do. Anyone who exercises routinely knows that it is the second day of training which is always the hardest, and while she lay there dead to the world on this attempt, the fact that a girl whom had barely exercised before managed to run for 3 miles without stopping was really highly impressive. If she continued to do this routinely, there would be no doubt that she would be able to run, jump, and move like any proper fighter should. Whether someone like her, a petite girl, should be able to learn that was another matter, but Napoleon had to work with the partner he had, not the partner he actually wanted.

He quietly stood up, moved over her. Her face was filled with nothing more than exhaustion and pain, and for the moment that determination which had defined her character had vanished. Perhaps he had really pushed her too hard.

"Can you stand?"

Louise gave a snort which could have been interpreted as laughter, but then she slowly struggled to her feet. She stumbled, and was forced to learn on Napoleon's shoulder as the two stumbled off towards her room.

"I thought Emperors shouldn't show mercy, Bonaparte."

"That doesn't mean we can't award people whom did well, which you did. Remember that story I told you about the bridge, where I ordered my men to charge into certain death?"

"Yeah."

"When I finally negotiated with the defeated enemy, I ordered them to pay those whom had survived that battle with real gold and silver, not just coins. It was their reward for facing certain death and not failing me. An Emperor must demand the utmost from his men, but when they do, he must give them a magnificent award for fulfilling those demands.

But come. We both really could use a bath."

...

Napoleon whistled as he held a basket of dirty laundry, thinking about how he had once a legion of servants at his command to deal with trivial tasks like these while he conquered Europe. But the past was the past, and he rather liked talking to the maid whom he dropped them off with. Besides, he had a request for her.

"Good morning, Siesta."

The maid turned around her face, bur her hands continued scrubbing as she beamed at the greeting. Napoleon noticed that they were turning red from the soap and the hard washboard, and inwardly grimaced. Being a maid was always a tough job, and she'd likely lose her physical beauty from grime and hard labor within 12 years at most. A shame.

"Oh, hello Mr. Bonaparte! It looks like you have more laundry?"

The voice was gay even as she knew that he had delivered more work for him. Even Napoleon couldn't tell whether she was genuinely happy to see him or whether the tone of her voice was forced to hide her resentment from more scrubbing.

"Yes, unfortunately I do. But I also have another request."

"Sure, what is it?"

"What are you doing for the next few months anyway?"

Summer vacations were supposed to begin next month, but in light of the Fouquet disaster, Old Osmond apparently made a declaration that summer vacation was to begin one month earlier, and so granted additional free time to the noble students. Most of the students, including Kirche and Guiche, had headed home to meet their families whom were all dying to see their children and personally insure their safety after the tragedy. However, some had chosen to stay at the Academy over the vacations. Napoleon had seen Tabitha wandering the academy with a book in hand as usual, and Louise had also for some reason chosen to stay. However, she had not actually made any plans for the months, and so Napoleon had decided to come up with something by himself.

"Oh, I'll be here for another week, doing my job. But then I'll be going back to visit my family."

"Your family? Do they live in a distant village?"

"Oh yes, it's a place called Tarbes. It's a wonderful place. I sometimes like to head out in the fields in the morning and just look and look and look."

"Would you mind if Louise and I came with you?"

Siesta said nothing, but the quizzical expression on her face was enough of a statement.

"Well, Louise and I will be staying at the Academy, but we don't have much in the way of plans. And I'd really like to visit a pea-, I mean farming village. Would there be any problems?"

Siesta simply stared at Napoleon for a while before slowly phrasing her response.

"Don't tell me….. Are you interested in the Dragon's Raiment?"

"The what?"

"It's the treasure of Tarbes, the heirloom of my family. It doesn't work like it's supposed to, but we've had a couple people try to buy it off of us, but we aren't so humble that we would do such a thing. I- I mean, I would never think you're the kind of person who would do that, Napoleon!"

"No, of course not. Anyways, I've never heard of the Dragon's Raiment. I just want to see a peasant village, and drag Valliere out of that musty academy and into a place which no doubt has some good air. So, could we come?"

Siesta stammered, hemmed and hawed a bit, before nodding.

"Okay! Sure! My family is big so the house is crowded, but there's always room for a couple more for a while!"

As Napoleon smiled and thanked her, he inwardly gave a completely different grin. He had known, of course. He knew about Siesta's situation, how she would be returning, her village, the Dragon's Raiment, he had known about all of that. Marteau was always proud to talk of his best helper, though he had initially wagged a finger at Napoleon when he had asked about Siesta, saying that Siesta needed a younger man, whatever that meant. He did truly wish to see a peasant village, but the Dragon's Raiment was also something which posed great interest.

Of course, he'd have to actually go persuade Louise of this course of plans. It shouldn't be that difficult, but knowing how things seemed to go in this land, who knows?

...

The Prince of Wales visibly shook upon reading the letter that Agnes had given him.

"My…cute cousin is to be married to the Emperor of Germania?"

Agnes gave no response to those words. Finding him had been an incredible pain. Given how badly the royal family had been crushed by Reconquista, the name that the Albion nobility had chosen for their alliance, it was probably a miracle that she had managed to find him at all. If her ship hadn't just happened to get captured by the flagship of the Royal Navy, she likely would be wandering around Albion without a care in the world, wondering where she was supposed to go next.

Wales sat down, his hands over his blonde head. While it was clear that he wanted to just release his emotions, he did not. Such a move would be unbecoming of the last member of the Royal Family. Instead, he pulled a jewelry box out from his desk, opened it, and removed an envelope. It was the love letter which Agnes was under order to obtain. If the Albion rebels obtained it, they would likely use it to prevent the upcoming marriage between the Germanian Emperor and her Majesty, and it was for that reason that she had received her special mission.

"Alright…this is the letter that the Princess gave to me in the past. It is under your care now, and make sure she takes great care of it."

And with those words of the prince, Agnes took the letter. She noted how old and tattered it was, how many times it must have been read by the prince. She wondered how long the relation between the Prince of Wales and her Majesty had lasted, and paused about how the cruelties of politics prevented the joys and happiness of young love. It really was terrible indeed.

And then she strode to the fireplace and contemptuously chucked the letter in.

"Wh-WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

The prince rose up with a scream of shock, only for Agnes to pull out a pistol to prevent him from charging forward and dragging what was left of the letter out of the fire. Her voice dripped with annoyance, the first sign that she, the Captain of the Musketeers, was upset over such a secret and yet utterly stupid mission.

"What you should have done the minute you realized that your side wasn't going to maintain control over Albion."

"But- but you're disobeying Henrietta's command! What kind of captain are you, who can't listen to her?"

"What command?"

Agnes's eyes never flinched as she continued.

"Her exact orders were 'Obtain the letter, and prevent Reconquista from laying their hands on it even if you must give your life to do so.' Reconquista will never get their hands on the letter now, and so I have done my duty and can go back to my original task of finding a thief and murderer. Perhaps she did intend for me to give the letter back to her. She didn't explicitly say so, and there's no reason for me to do so otherwise especially since she will be soon married to another man."

She holstered the pistol, her back still covering the fireplace.

"But forget the letter, since this business is done and over with. Let's talk about you and your plans. We both know that what's left of the Royal Army at this point has no hope of defeating Reconquista, especially since their head, Oliver Cromwell, will be commanding this force personally in the upcoming attack. So what do you intend to do, Crown Prince of Wales?"

As the prince watched the letter, his last link of communication with the princess, fade into ashes, he gave a sad, bitter smile.

"We will go down in a blaze of glory. Even if we have to sacrifice one of our own lives, we'll be able to take some of theirs in return."

"What do you intend to actually accomplish with that, Prince? It makes no difference to you whether the Reconquista loses another three hundred soldiers or another three hundred thousand soldiers, as you will still lose. You could still fly to Tristain. Why do you refuse?"

"You know perfectly well why. If Germania discovers the affair between me and the princess-"

"Are you telling me that you would not be able to contain your emotions for her like a proper ruler if you went to Tristain? That is less than I would expect from an ordinary human, much less a ruler like yourself."s

The Prince looked down, his face turning slowly beet-red at hearing Agnes's words as she continued.

"You are hosting a dinner party soon as a final celebration, correct?"

The Prince continued to look down as he mumbled his assent.

"I will not be attending. I will be heading to one of your smaller ships, the _Hobbes_. I will wait there for 90 minutes, and then I will return to Tristain with that ship. I can tell that the clouds will be especially strong tonight, so detection from the Reconquista will prove more difficult. Come there if you wish to flee and preserve your life and your war against that organization."

"But, you're ordering me to escape and abandon my men!"

"Order? You are a prince, I cannot order you. I can offer you a choice. And since you are a prince, you are also a military commander, and you should know that if you die, the Royal family will have been utterly and finally defeated in this war. If you cannot sacrifice three hundred men, three hundred men whom you know will not even be alive anyways by tomorrow night, then maybe Albion will be better off under the Reconquista. Or are you telling me that you've waged this entire war while refusing to send men under conditions when they would likely die?"

"That's…"

He wanted to say that was different. But in a sense, she was right. Just to get these three hundred men to this harbor, he had left an entire regiment to buy time against the full Army of the Reconquista. Was this so much worse?

"I'll leave you to your decision, Prince, and I'll wait for you. It's up to you to decide which is more important. The lives of three hundred men who will die anyway or the chance to bring Albion back under your hands and not that of a man like Cromwell."

...

For once, things had gone smoothly. The fact that summer vacation had arrived so rapidly meant that Louise had formed no plans. As a result, she quickly accepted Napoleon's plan without hesitation, and she seemed particularly interested in seeing this Dragon's Raiment for herself as well.

"So, Siesta, what can you tell us about it?"

The three were riding on horseback carrying packs of food and blankets. Napoleon also had Derflinger strapped to his side. Siesta seemed to hesitate before she answered.

"Well, it's supposed to be a powerful wind magic artifact that lets the user fly without casting spells."

"Wind magic? Siesta, I thought your family wasn't capable of casting spells."

"Well, no we can't." Siesta admitted to Louise's inquiry. "It's something that my great-grandfather had with him when he first arrived, and we don't know where he actually came from. He said that he was using it to fly, and somehow he ran into a freak thunderstorm and appeared in this village."

She sighed and looked up at the clouds.

"I remember him meeting once when I was very little. It is my first memory. He always seemed to spend time with the Dragon's Raiment as despite my description, it doesn't actually fly. I remember him making some potion in an attempt to make it fly, but the potion set on fire. He was very angry about it."

It appeared that she was about to continue talking about the Dragon's Raiment, but all of a sudden the horses began to whinny and rear up. All three realized that the horses could sense that something was there, probably hostile. Siesta and Louise ended up dismounting while the horses pranced about, and only Napoleon seemed to be able to keep his under control.

"Siesta, what's going on?" Louise asked.

The maid seemed to be nervous, her eyes flitting about before finally answering.

"I believe we've run into a bunch of orcs."

"What's an orc"?

Both Siesta and Louise gaped at Napoleon's question, and the latter muttered "Of course" to herself. However, they never got to answer, as the ugly creatures showed themselves.

Napoleon was confused. It looked like a pig, with a horn on the top, wearing incredibly flimsy bronze armor and a sword which even the lowest blacksmith in his France would have been insulted to see come out of his forge. But as shabby it was, the sword remained a sword, and Napoleon guessed that this creature must be the equivalent of bandits in his home world. Still, since his pistol only had one shot, it was probably time to use Derflinger for the first time.

"For Brimir's sake, draw me out already, partner!"

He grabbed the reins of his horse with his right hand and pulled the sword out with his left before turning to Louise and Siesta. The runes activated, and once again that feeling of youth appeared in his brain and heart.

"Stay together. Do not split apart from each other no matter what. Understand?"

They nodded, and Napoleon kicked his horse. The same applied to him. There were only five of the orcs, but if he strayed too far from those two, or if Siesta and Louise split up, there might be more surrounding the three who would split them up and overwhelm them. Still, it was clear as he swung his sword and sliced the head off of one that both the runes and sword were really powerful. As cheap as the orc's blade was, he shouldn't have been able to just slash right through the metal like it was butter. He also noticed that as strange as these creatures were, their blood was still red.

Three of the orcs charged at him, and Napoleon counter-charged. They didn't have the sense to group themselves like one is supposed to when facing cavalry, and thus it took only three slashes before they were done, all whom quickly and efficiently lost their heads. Wait, three?

He wheeled his horse around, and saw the last orc charging at Siesta and Louise as it appeared it had slipped past him. Siesta cowered, but while Louise was clearly afraid, she raised her wand and pointed it at the creature.

"Fireball!"

...

The three travelers finally arrived at the small peasant village as they tramped into sight. They had not said a word since the orc attack, but as they crossed a sign indicating that they had finally entered Tarbes, Napoleon spoke up.

"I have been in many battles, so naturally the sight of soldiers covered in blood is nothing to me. But all the same, you two are really going to have to wash hard to get the orc blood off you."

Siesta blushed, and Louise grimaced. It was clear that the latter was seriously regretting wearing a white shirt after the orc had just... disappeared into a pile of guts and blood.

"But seriously, Louise, how the heck did you do that Explosion? It's not the first time you've done them, obviously, but that's the first I've seen one that, well, violent."

Louise's dark expression didn't change a bit after hearing Napoleon's question.

"I don't know, really. It was different. I felt different as I felt the orc approaching and as I casted the spell. I think it was the intent, that unlike before, I really, really wanted to save myself.

Maybe Void magic has something to do with how I'm feeling. I never told you, but I did the summoning spell four times on that day where you came, but the first three were complete failures. It was only on the last one, when I was completely desperate for something to appear, that you appeared."

Napoleon didn't say anything, but he couldn't help but wonder what a terrible thing Void Magic was. The power of the greatest magic in the land was dependant on the emotional state of a little girl? This would surely be a problem for both himself and her country, but for now he really did not possess a solution for how to deal with it. It would have to be arrived someday.

Furthermore, as the group entered the village, the Emperor was fairly surprised by the state of the peasants he met. They were hardly rich, but they were significantly better off compared to the peasants he had known under the Bourbons. While he had no way of making certain, it appeared that a fairly large group of them appeared to own their own lands as opposed to his world. Their methods of agriculture were absolutely hideously primitive compared to what he knew, but as the lowest classes of society they were wealthier than he had expected – there were some cases of pinched faces and beggars, but only a few.

Siesta's father, a bald man whose eyes twinkled despite haven seeing better days, had no objections to letting a noblewoman and a friend of the maid see the Dragon's Raiment after they all took a long bath and changed their clothes. Having given her daughter the key, the three of them walked through a dank cave, and then towards the old building that held the Dragon's Raiment.

Siesta unlocked the double doors, and then Napoleon and her grabbed one each.

"One…two…three!"

The doors slid open. And as Siesta smiled at what was inside, Louise and Napoleon gasped in shock.

It was big. That's the first thing they thought. This thing, made out what appeared to be metal, absolutely dwarfed all three of them. Napoleon could tell that it was hollow inside and from the windows guessed that perhaps people were supposed to be there. It looked like it could fit 200, maybe more. The center of it was almost shaped like a tube, with two planks that stretched out to the side in the center. These planks each had something which looked like a windmill attached to it.

But it was what was on its side that was the real shocker to him. There were words printed on the side of the Dragon's Raiment. But it was not the Helgekinian alphabet, it was the Latin alphabet. The Emperor remained in silence as he looked at the clear white words which were printed on the machine.

_Nord Noratlus_.

"Well, there's two parts to the inside," Siesta spoke up. "Would you like to see inside? It's the back that's always been the weird part about this plane."

The three had been watching the device from the side, but they now moved to the back. And once again Louise and Napoleon stood in surprise as they looked in the back.

There were books inside, hundreds upon hundreds of books. A vast pile of books lay inside what appeared to be the interior of this machine, neatly stacked and organized into various shelves. But as Louise moved inside and looked at the books, a puzzled expression rose to her face. She couldn't read any of them. They were written in some strange language, one which she didn't recognize in the slightest. The confusion on her face was something which Siesta noticed, and she apologetically shrugged as she stood outside, waiting for them to come out.

"It's always been the strangest part about this plane. Great-grandfather apparently could read these, but we never found anyone else who could. He always valued them highly, so we thought we had to keep these books as the Dragon's Raiment. Should we go look at the front? Great-grandfather said that's where you're supposed to make it fly."

Louise jumped down, turned towards Napoleon, and then stopped. He was holding a book, studying it, and rapidly flipping through the pages, far too rapidly to read any of them properly. And then he abruptly dropped it.

His shoulders started shaking, and Louise was thinking about to calling to him to make sure he was all right. Then it started.

"Heeheeheee…HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!"

It was unrestrained, unrefined, an absolutely exulting, powerful laugh which did not even remotely try to hide its limitations. Siesta, whom had never seen him laugh before, fidgeted as she didn't know what to make of it, and neither did Louise, whom had seen him laugh, but not like this. Then he abruptly began looking, grabbing through every book, randomly, without rhyme or reason, but treating each one as if it was his son as he flipped through its pages and then put it back. And the crazy unrestrained laughter never stopped, nor did the look of an insane exhilarated joy leave his face. Meanwhile, as he glanced through book after another, the first one that he had looked through sat there on the floor, with its title, author, and date of publication clear as day for anyone whom could read the Latin alphabet.

_Achtung – Panzer!_

_By Heinz Guderian_

_1937._

And so a French military transport plane, containing the library of over a hundred years after the death of its Emperor, fell in to his hands. As Napoleon looked over his gift, he continued to laugh. Destiny had given him a second chance. He had failed to conquer Europe, but armed with this gift of knowledge, there was no way he could fail to conquer Helgekinia.


	9. Omake

"_Nothing is more precious than Independence and Liberty."_

_Ho Chi Minh._

_..._

_..._

"It's over, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is."

Two men talked to each inside an elegant and fashionable office. The mood in the office was gravely somber, and the sweltering heat and the outside noises of the hustle and bustle of the city of Hanoi did nothing to improve the unhappiness which they both felt.

"General Castries has surrendered. The fortress of Dien Bien Phu has fallen. Our reign in Indochina is all but finished."

As one of the men spoke while standing at attention, the other man sighed as he looked around at his desk. Maurice DeJean, the French High Commissioner of Indochina, had failed. When he had assumed the office ten months ago, he had declared that he would responsible for the security and defense of the region in the name of the Fourth French Republic. But now on May 8, 1954, there was little to do but prepare for the inevitable exit from the region. Whether the Vietminh, the organization of Communists and revolutionaries, would have full control of the country was something he did not know. It seemed likely to him. They had succeeded in rallying the people behind him in a way that the French-backed Emperor, Bao Dai, had never managed to accomplish despite over a hundred years of Imperial rule backed by his great nation. There were rumblings of a possible American intervention within the region, but that was not for him to decide. Statesmen both from the West and the Communist bloc were negotiating in Geneva about the fate of Indochina, and it was for diplomats to decide, not an administrator like DeJean was.

"What shall happen to us? I assume we shall be returning to France shortly."

DeJean looked at the man who was across from him. He was a captain in the French Indochina Army, one of the few officers who were stationed in the city to prevent Vietminh infiltration. He had done as well as job as could be expected, but it was clear that as the people anticipated victory by the Vietnamese nationalists, not a night went by without some act of sabotage of attack that hindered the war efforts of the Republic. Last night, two policemen had been shot walking their nightly beats.

"I do not know where I shall be heading next. There are signs of growing unrest in Algeria as well. That we must absolutely hold. Algeria is next to France, it is not a colony like this region was. I am sure there that the natives there will understand the importance of remaining good citizens of the Republic.

But in the meantime, I have an important job for you. Would you follow me, captain?"

The captain followed DeJean to another circular room, and looked around. Around the walls of this windowless room was an impressive library. It seemed that instead of walls, there were shelves, covered with innumerable books that even included some foreign texts. DeJean walked to the center of the room, while the captain remained in the entrance.

"Quite impressive, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

The Commissioner smiled as he wistfully looked at the books.

"It really was a pity that these Orientals rose up the minute we returned after the Japanese defeat. If they looked at this library, they would have known that we only wished to build peace and prosperity, and had nothing but their best intentions at heart. Come, look for yourself, captain."

The row of books was impressive, the captain observed. France had been at war to keep the region of Indochina for nearly a decade now, and yet in the library of the High Commissioner, there were few books on war and their tactics. They were mostly scientific or technical books, interspersed with various works of fine literature. Here was one book that discussed the history of railroads. He pulled another which talked of textile production, another on manufacturing, as well as Keynes's seminal work on economics and the ideas of Schopenhauer and Nietzsche. Aside from a few books discussing tanks and aircraft, the former of which was completely impractical in the jungles of Indochina to begin with, it was not a library which one would expect from one fighting a desperate war to preserve territory.

"I'm surprised you would keep something like this, sir. Are there reports on conducting guerilla and commando operations?"

"There are files about that in my desk. Regardless, I would not like these works to fall into the hands of the Communists. Who knows what those ignorant savages will do with these works of learning? They will probably burn all of these as capitalist literature. Captain, you have experience with flying aircraft, yes?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good. We will be loading these books onto a military transport aircraft shortly. You will fly to Tokyo, and from there you will cross the Pacific to the United States. Once you are there, we'll figure a way to get these books back to Paris. I'd also like you to take the files I just mentioned as well and take them with you."

24 hours later, the captain walked towards a Nord Noratlus transport plane. The moving of the books had gone quickly and efficiently. Even under a dying regime, coolies were never one to question just what they were loading or unloading. It was likely because of that Vietnam was such a primitive place, he thought. Why build machines when you can have cheap laborers do all your work anyways?

As he climbed into the cockpit, he noticed that the Commissioner was waiting at the gates, holding an erect pose and saluting. The Captain responded in turn, and then started the plane's engine. He hoped that the shelves which had been bolted to the back of the plane would remain upright, and that the tarp coverings keeping the books in their cases would hold. Otherwise, organization would be a serious concern upon arrival.

...

The flight to Tokyo proceeded without a hitch, and after a few hours where both the plane was refueled and the pilot rested in preparation for the long voyage, he once again set off. Two hours later, he kicked his seat back and relaxed. While falling asleep would obviously be a problem as he was alone on this plane, it is when a plane is cruising that it is at its safest anyways. There probably wasn't much to be concerned about for a while.

However, he noticed some storm clouds approaching, and while at first he sighed at having the plane endure a thunderstorm, a second glance at the clouds made him stare. Storm clouds were naturally dark, but they weren't completely pitch black. He could tell that there was something different about these clouds.

As the plane hit the clouds, he noticed another surprise about these strange clouds. When a plane hit a storm cloud, it turned dark and difficult to see. But he couldn't see anything at all. It was almost as if it had been completely swallowed by the cloud, and the captain pulled out the radio in order to deliver a possible mayday.

It was dead. He threw it down in frustration and then realized that the compass was going haywire. It was spinning as fast it could, pointing to absolutely nothing. What was going on? All he could do was press the plane onward, hoping he could get out of this strange black cloud as soon as possible.

All of a sudden, the cloud disappeared. Once again, its behavior had been peculiar. It had truly vanished into nothing, unlike normal when a cloud continues to get thinner and thinner and then gradually disappears. He would appear talk about that with a scientist friend when he got back to Paris, the captain thought as he glanced out the cockpit window and down at the ocean.

And then he jumped out of his seat and checked to make sure that he was seeing what he was seeing. He wasn't over the ocean anymore. Instead, it was a giant green plain. And while the compass had stopped spinning, it indicated that he was going north, as opposed to the eastward direction that he was supposed to be heading.

He didn't know what was going on and he stared at the plain for several minutes, as if he expected what he was seeing to be a giant hallucination and for the Pacific to reappear. But it didn't change, and out of confusion he began to lower the height of the transport plane.

It was at that point that he noticed a small village, but even from the extreme height he was in, he noticed that it was odd. There were no traces of lights or tall buildings, just some shorter building like a small house and a lack of highways. It appeared to be some farming village – perhaps a commune?

Either way, there was no doubt that he was completely lost. Although he tried again, the radio was still not working, and he seemingly had no way whatsoever to try communicating with the outside world. He would lower and descend upon the village. It was doubtful that they would speak the same language as he did, but he would find a way to figure what had happened here and then continue on his mission.

As he prepared to land in a field, he noticed that the villagers, wearing what appeared to be incredibly primitive clothing, stared and pointed at him. Even so, he continued to begin the landing process, and so the plane landed in this peculiar village. The captain unbuckled his seatbelt, and as he left the cockpit and walked towards the entrance, he silently apologized to the Commissioner. He would find a way to complete his mission as soon as he figured out where he was.

He would apologize once more on his deathbed, as despite the establishment of a family in this village and a happy life, he realized that he would be unable to complete his job of delivering the books. His dying wish was to pray that someone would come from his world and to this land of Helgekinia, and complete that which he failed to do.

If there was an afterlife for those who died in Helgekinia, it would be a wish he would live to regret.


	10. The Fool: Chapter 8

"_Even peace may be purchased at too high a price."_

_Benjamin Franklin_

…

…

Princess Henrietta sighed as a worker read off the proper flowers which would be used by the people to toss at the bride and the groom, and her gaze drifted out towards the window. In two days she was to be wed to the Emperor of Germania, forging an alliance between the nations that would protect her small country. It would insure peace within the realm of Helgekinia for a long period, perhaps for the rest of her reign.

_You think you can keep your crown through peace, through a fair and just rule. You are utterly doomed to fail, princess._

No. He was wrong. He had to be. She knew what his realm was like. He never ever received legitimacy from Brimir or whatever his people worshipped, so he always had to prove himself to the people. And he answered the people's wishes by fighting wars over and over again, until eventually his kingdom was destroyed when the other nations rose up against him.

His people may have wished for war, but hers did not. And even if they did, she would protect them from their desires, and would preserve the peace. That was supposed to be the role of the ruler above all. Making the people happy was one good, but preserving a peaceful land would be the highest award she could obtain. So she would cast aside her own wishes and marry and forge an alliance with Germania. One which would keep the peace she desired.

"Your Majesty!"

She was abruptly startled by one of her courtiers who asked the princess what she thought about the new wedding dress. She had returned the first dress – it was too ostentatious, too frilly for her own tastes, and the gemstones which had been placed in the bridal veil were hideous. Now she was wearing something that was plain and pure white, something which was a sign of devotion, of devotion to-

What, exactly? Devotion to her husband? To her nation? Where did her true loyalties lie to? It was expected from the princess that the nation must take the highest priority, but could she state with total confidence that was indeed where it lay? It was amusing that all of these thoughts were occurring to her on her wedding day, which she knew was supposed to be the happiest day of any ordinary girl's life. But a ruler could not afford to be ordinary.

As the workers droned on and Henrietta thought to herself, none of them initially noted the messenger who had walked into the preparation room. His pose erect and confident, he had to clear his throat before they realized his presence.

"Your Majesty, an ambassador from the Albion Reconquista government has requested an immediate audience from you. He declares it to be matter of the gravest urgency."

Henrietta sighed. She thought of ordering the messenger to send the ambassador away. She wished to deal with the Reconquista as late as possible, not least because she knew it was all but certain that without the Germanian alliance, Albion would likely seek to invade her country. Even with the Germanian alliance, she could not rule out that they would do so. No one could tell what the new government's values were, one which had probably just finished murdering the last remnants of the Royal Family.

Wales's face flashed before her mind, and she suppressed it. Even if she did not want to deal with the new government, it would be nice to receive him as a courtesy, and it would get the blasted wedding planners out of her hand. She inwardly smiled at the thought. To wish to deal with an ambassador as opposed to wedding planners, that was more like a ruler than a woman.

"Tell him I will receive him. Everyone, please leave at once. Matters of state must be conducted by me."

As the courtiers and messenger left the room, the ambassador strode in. His long brown curls and mustache reminded her of Wardes, who now that she had come to think of it had gone missing for the past several days. That was a matter she should attempt to attend to after this meeting. Still, she could not deny that his manner of dress was both elegant and proper, though the red shirt combined with appropriate ruffles were covered with a black travelling cloak, one which he apparently did not wish to remove.

The ambassador bowed in the presence of the princess, and then moved to kiss the fingertips which she chose to offer to him. It was a courteous and formal gesture, and he did not linger on her hands for too long like had occurred with some ambassadors of the past.

"My greetings, fair Princess of Tristain. I am Charles Fleetwood, and I have been appointed by Emperor Oliver Cromwell as the newly appointed ambassador to Tristain."

He spoke flawless Tristainian, but Henrietta could not suppress a grimace. She was meeting far too many rulers whom were giving themselves the title which only a supreme ruler of Helgekinia should possess. While she now knew three people who were calling themselves Emperors, she had not even attempted to take the mere title of Queen, even though she knew she could have done so with nary a whisper of discontent. Rulers were becoming overly ambitious these days.

"I am honored to meet you, Ambassador, and hope for long years of peace between our nations. My messenger told me that you had an urgent matter to discuss. Is it to report that you have succeeded in destroying the Royal Family of Albion?"

Fleetwood was apparently quite a skilled diplomat, she noticed. He simply stared at her with a blank expression, but she could tell it hid the thoughts of total surprise.

"Well, that is a most interesting statement indeed, your Majesty! I had actually believed that you were aware of the news I was about to give you. Perhaps it is for the most that you do not know, as it would be the best ways of preserving our past good relations."

Despite the words, it was clear from his tone that he was disappointed, and that the fact that the Princess had not known was bad news for Albion or for himself. Still, he continued to speak.

"As I am sure you know, your Majesty, two nights ago, the Reconquista succeeded in defeating the last remnants of the Royal Family. We are now free to pursue our gracious liberties as a result of the many sacrifices made by our soldiers."

"So, the Crown Prince Wales has perished?"

She stated the question with a flat tone, concealing the heavy sorrow in her heart. She had thought of dealing with Wardes after this man, but instead she would probably need to weep after hearing the news that her lover was dead. But she then noticed that Fleetwood had not bothered to even conceal his expression of surprise this time.

"Well, now I am truly shocked! I had supposed you knew about all the affairs which occur within your nation, but I was truly mistaken! Hopefully, this should make our conversation much easier."

Henrietta chose to ignore the slight while Fleetwood cleared his throat and continued.

"It appears that the Crown Prince of Wales did not possess the courage to fight for his throne to the end. While his soldiers were fighting for their honor and his, he slipped into a small boat in the night and fled Albion. Our last reports indicate that he has fled to Tristain and has sought refuge in your country."

Henrietta could not believe what he had just said. The crown prince? Here? Surely he was not thinking of seeking to be reunited with her? Was he perhaps hoping that by going into exile, he could reclaim his throne someday?

She had to calm down. No doubt the ambassador was not finished talking here.

"Well, needless to say, the request of the Reconquista government is obvious. It is necessary that the Crown Prince of Wales be returned to his country. He will be granted a fair trial, but he must be made to answer for his crimes which caused the people to revolt."

"What are these crimes?"

"I am sorry Princess, but those matters are not for those who are not of Albion, even for one who commands as much respect as you do. He must be taken to Albion, where we will be the ones whom shall judge him for his crimes. I am sure that a princess can understand how important it is that every fugitive from the law receives justice."

Henrietta shook slightly from hearing that word, the ideal which even as she held to, another Emperor had castigated her for her devotion to that ideal. She ignored it and responded.

"If I am to send a man to another country where he will be tried, it is then my responsibility to know. You must inform me."

"Oh, it is not something that you should be concerned about, princess! I am sure no one would judge you if you returned him to us."

"The Prince would judge me. And justice is something which can, must, apply to all people. I must know exactly what he has been charged with before I am capable of making a decision."

Fleetwood gave an amazingly disarming smile as he held out his hands helplessly.

"Your Majesty, I know from the bottom of my soul that you are a woman of great integrity and honesty. But even if I was to ignore the principles which I have talked about, I must return to my master Cromwell to receive a comprehensive and exhaustive list of the Prince's crimes. By the time I would have returned, the Prince may continue his fugitive run and go somewhere where the arms of the law would not be able to reach. And the people cry out for the prince's return as soon as possible, so that he may face a firm and speedy justice."

"I am prepared to wait for as long as it takes. You may go back to Albion and receive this list from your lord."

"But I have already discussed why it would be to our detriment for us to do so!"

"Then I will not release the Prince to your custody. I must insure justice for all, no matter whether your government wishes for a speedy inquisition into the prince's activities."

Fleetwood glowered at these statements. It was clear that he was beginning to lose his patience. However, he once again smiled as his hands entered the pockets of his well-made trousers.

"My Princess, my Lord Cromwell must insist that the Crown Prince be received into our custody."

"And I insist that the Lord Cromwell must provide with an official list of the Prince's crimes so that I may judge whether his crimes are worthy of returning to Albion."

"With all due respect, your Majesty, it is quite presumptuous for a ruler of one nation to dictate whether our nation has executed justice regarding our people. You are not a citizen of Albion, after all."

"It is no longer so when that man has entered my borders. I will not repeat myself. The Prince will not be released into your custody without an official list of the crimes which has been accused of."

Fleetwood chose this moment to give a deferential bow, but even then his eyes flashed with frustration.

"I shall do so. But I must warn you, your Majesty. Cromwell is not a man who is easy to forgive perceived slights. He may possibly do something unexpected as a result of your decision."

"Are you threatening me, Ambassador?"

The chilly voice by someone who was a Triangle-class water mage would have made any of her courtiers shrivel with fear. But Fleetwood was a man of experience, one who had seen many things across the world. He simply reacted to Henrietta's question by maintaining the bow.

"I am just a messenger who is supposed to represent the wishes of my master Cromwell and so I cannot foresee his actions. I just know from my long association with him that he may take offense to your decision, and he may do something to the detriment of your nation."

"Ambassador, I believe we have nothing more to discuss. It would be best if you take your leave and return to your lord."

She strode off, leaving Fleetwood alone. He made no move for a moment, and then smiled for a moment as he strode off with the cloak whirling over him. He had fulfilled his mission, as he had actually never believed Henrietta would return the Prince. It simply sufficed that Albion would now have a sufficient casus belli for a future campaign against Tristain. Part of him felt like informing her about Wardes's betrayal, but he had no reason to do so. She would find out on her own in due course.

Henrietta in the meantime entered the throne room. The messenger she had dismissed was waiting, almost if he knew that his services would once again be needed.

"Find Agnes and Wardes at once. Bring them back to me as soon as possible."

"There is no need to do the former, your Majesty. I am here."

The princess turned around at the sound of the voice. Agnes, the captain of the Musketeers, was standing in the doorway of the throne room. And the Crown Prince was waiting behind her, along with a host of his remaining generals.

...

Louise sighed as she looked at the building the – plane, her partner had called it –was located in. The behavior of her servant had truly grown odder over the past five days. Sure, he had always liked to read. But ever since he had found those books in the strange language, he spent hours in that machine with the books, going through details and at times trembling in excitement at something he had discovered while he was in there.

It's not like he barricaded himself in the room. He would emerge during mealtimes, and would talk with Siesta's father for long periods of time, discussing agricultural techniques and ways in which he could improve his farm. Yesterday, Napoleon had had a long and animated discussion with her father, eagerly proposing some new method of plowing which the farmer had observed with great interest. And he had hardly forgotten the evil training. Every morning, at dawn, he would shake her until she awoke, and then the two would go out and run long distances, which always culminated either when they returned to the farmhouse or when she simply collapsed. The distances weren't growing longer, but there were good days and bad days, and while the amount of times the latter occurred was naturally lessening, they were still there. Apparently, tomorrow morning he had figured something to do with her wand skills and so they would practice over that.

The more she thought about it, even if you ignored the reading, he was a strange person. He would never hesitate to brag about his military exploits if asked. At one dinner, when one of Siesta's siblings had wondered about what he did in wartime, he pulled out a piece of paper and avidly described and drew out one of his battles, a place which he had called Austerlitz. No one on the table even understood a third of what he was discussing, but it didn't matter to him. The process of showing his accomplishments was good enough regardless of the audience or their reaction. Yet while he liked to talk and boast of all he had accomplished, Louise struggled to simply decide that he was an arrogant, self-centered man. He had helped Siesta's father out, and then there was what he had done with her. He never stopped believing in her, and while he continually berated her these days for not running fast or hard enough, she thought back to the day when only snickers resulted after her third failed summoning. To be yelled at and insulted, Louise believed, was a far better thing than to be ignored.

Turning away from the building, she gazed outwards at the sun which was beginning to set. The field in which she stood in was lovely, making the courtyard in the Academy, with its neatly trimmed grass and bushes look pathetic in comparison. Tall, billowing grasses and golden wheat swayed in the wind as the hues of the sun turned red as it descended. Going here, she felt, truly had been a boon, both for herself, for the maid whom had reunited with her family, and for Napoleon who had appeared to find something which amazed and consumed him once again.

It was then that she saw the horse and the rider. It was a chestnut horse, brand new and in the prime of its life, but the man on top of the horse was also of note. He wore new woolen clothes that would be considered fairly fine for a commoner, with a brown coat and trousers combined with a red vest which somehow matched well. His hair was white, and nearly gone, but he had an expression of happiness and rejuvenation. He slowed down as he approached Louise, and then wiped the sweat off of his brow.

"Hello there, miss. I am in the village of Tarbes, correct?"

Louise responded with an affirmation, and the men stopped the horse and dismounted. He stared at her for several seconds, and then glanced at a sheet of paper he was holding.

"Are you Valliere?"

Now it was Louise's turn to stare. While the man was dressed well, he was a commoner, and a complete stranger at that! How did he know her?

"H-How do you know whom I am?"

"Your partner described you to me. Your pink hair really does help in making you stand out."

"Partner? Wait, do you mean Bonaparte?"

"That's the one! You really are a bright young one. I'm sure you know whom I am?"

"What?"

The man looked puzzled, and then brought a hand up to his hand as his brows furrowed.

"Well, I had assumed he had mentioned me, but it's nothing important anyways. Name's Andre Giono, printer and – what was the word he had used – journalist extraordinaire! I am pleased to meet you, Napoleon's partner?"

His voice was jovial, but then he did something that Louise utterly, totally, could not believe.

He stuck out his hand.

He-He wasn't expecting her to shake hands with him like they were equals, was he? A commoner? Not bowing to her? Who was this man who did not defer to the proper social mores, and what was his relation to Bonaparte?

Giono noticed that she had made no move, and once again furrowed his brows. But before any of them could say or do something, a voice broke out.

"Ah! Giono! Excellent timing!"

Apparently her partner had left the hanger for once, and it was clear that he had been expecting the printer. Giono brought his hand down, and then strode over to Napoleon. The two laughed upon seeing each other and shook hands heartily.

"Great to see you, Boney! You know, I absolutely cannot thank you enough for helping me with your letters! I was surprised to see you how much you knew about to implicate that corrupt Chilan bastard!"

"It was nothing. I just knew some friends in my time; they taught me how to do those sorts of things! I see things have been better since you were stuck in that demonic inn!"

Well, Napoleon thought to himself, it's not like the lawyers and bureaucrats in the Committee of Public Safety and the Directory were friends, but they taught him propaganda and journalistic techniques well enough. He continued speaking anyways.

"Still, we have much to do anyways! I have something to show you, something which will no doubt surprise you."

As the two men walked towards the plane, Louise couldn't help but feel a tinge of anger. Her partner had been so worried about letting her near the plane, as once when Louise had knocked on the back door of the plane, he had simply asked to leave. But he had no troubles letting in someone whom to her was a complete stranger? Besides, what would Siesta and her family say?

...

It turned out that their family had no objections. Giono was apparently a decent wealthy man, and he had paid Siesta's father well. Not for the plane, which was a family heirloom and was not for sale under any conditions, but for the right to borrow and return the books as well as sleep in the building the plane was located in. While Napoleon would leave from time to time to help Louise and Siesta's family, Giono by contrast never left that building at all. The only time anyone aside from Napoleon had seen him leave there, he had inquired to Siesta's father about possibly purchasing a residence in the village, only to be told that it would be necessary to deal with a nobleman, Count Verand, to purchase land from him. Giono had not taken that reply very well, and so he stayed in, somehow getting the nourishment necessary to do… whatever he was doing in there.

As Louise paced outside the building, wondering what was going on in there, Napoleon sighed. The information of a hundred years was something which was an incredible gift to him, and yet at the same time it was so inadequate. Most of the books were scientific by nature, dealing with plans to create all sorts of fantastic devices, but devices which nevertheless generally remained generally limited in wartime. Even those inventions which he could tell would be incredibly useful in war, such as what they called railroads and radios, required resources which he didn't have and which he doubted any particularly single wealthy individual possessed. It would require the resources of a nation to create these tools which would permit him to create a wonderful new army for conquest.

That wasn't to say the books were completely useless. The information was useful as it was, and there were a few books on military tactics. Napoleon had found a manual on how to fly this plane, and it even possessed a limited amount of that fuel called "petrol" so it could still be flown to some degree. Still, he was completely uncertain about how to make more, though understanding the principles of flight was good. There were also books on guerilla techniques, which seemed to be a largely modernized version of what those damned Spaniards had done to him for over 4 years. He had a better idea of how to run those operations, as well as most importantly, how to counter them.

But ironically, it was the presence of the literary works which for now presented the most value. And it was all because of Giono, whose respect and devotion towards him meant that Napoleon was sure that he would keep these texts a secret. Napoleon had elected to teach the printer the Latin alphabet, and the speed which he had learned it caused the Emperor to realize that it was possible for any individual of sufficient intelligence to figure out the Latin alphabet by himself, especially given how similar Helgekinian and French were. Giono had achieved wealth and status to some degree with his expose of Chilan, but Napoleon had fermented another scheme, one which would make Giono and by extension himself, wealthy. It had been extremely irritating to be forced to borrow from Louise to send the letters and to obtain clothing in the end, and his plan was to fix this problem and gain a greater degree of independence.

He glanced over the printer, whom was hard at work. The plan was simple. Giono was currently translating a copy of _Don Quixote _in Helgekinian, and when he returned to Tristania, he would publish it as his own work, no doubt reaping spectacular profits especially since he would be his own publisher. In exchange, the two promised to split the profits evenly. Giono was an honest and earnest man, and Napoleon did not believe that there would be any problems with the arrangement for now. If Giono got too arrogant, he could always find another printer.

Another three days later, Giono declared that he had to return to Tristania, and so he left, carrying a copy of _Don Quixote _as well as _The Three Musketeers_. His work had been going slowly, partially out of the inherent difficulties in translation, partially just because Giono had spent hours just reading some of the literature, while completely ignoring the scientific works. This honestly perfectly suited Napoleon just fine, as even if Giono did reveal the source of the literature works, it wasn't that important. The scientific works were what he valued. Admittedly, he himself had tried reading some of the literature which had been published, but while some of it was fascinating, others he had found repulsive. He had, without the knowledge of Siesta's family, chucked a book called_The Stranger _by some fool named Camus into a fire he had built, viewing it as utterly pointless and confusing. It was a small book anyways. Completely unlike a book called _War and Peace, _which he had also chucked into the fire for far too many reasons to name.

Still, as he looked back at the piles of book now out of their shelves and laying about on the floor, he did feel a shred of annoyance that there were practically no books on history. Somehow he possessed this giant library, yet still did not know how much longer he had to live. Perhaps it was better not to know. Still, he was 45, and despite his unparalleled genius, his long years of conquering probably meant that he had most another 30 years. Just the fact that he had managed to keep a longer life span than Alexander was to some degree an accomplishment. He still needed an opportunity, one which he absolutely knew would come given what Destiny had already offered him, but it would be better for it to come sooner rather than later.

So, while he would wait for that singular moment, he sighed and flipped open another book dealing with these planes.

...

Fouquet looked out the ground below her. Her job was finished. The Staff of Destruction was now in the hands of the Reconquista, and the money she had received was enough to keep the orphanage running for at least a year. Wardes and she were currently aboard the _Lexington_, the flagship of the Albion navy. It truly was a proper ship of the line. The Lexington, a great black ship, possessed over 200 heavy cannons in a vessel which was 450 feet long, and with two major windstones in the bottom of the ship, its speed was incredible of a ship of that size, even though its maneuverability was a severe and inherent problem for a ship that size.

A door opened behind her, and she could hear Wardes stomp out behind her. She turned around, and saw him fiddling with the Staff of Destruction.

"Are you sure this is the true Staff, Fouquet?"

"Of course. I saw the pictures before I took the job, so I know perfectly well what it looks like. Are you telling me that a mage as powerful as yourself is unable to get it to work?"

Wardes grimaced at the thief's jibe, and proceeded to run his hands all over it. The Staff of Destruction was unlike any magical artifact he had ever seen. It was too large to be a staff, and seemed designed to be carried over the shoulder rather than held in one's hand. Its greenish-brown color was also of a design he had never seen before. Nevertheless, he hoisted it on his shoulder like he apparently was supposed to and continued looking for an activation sigil.

"Wardes?"

"Yes, Fouquet?"

"You mind if I ask you a question?"

The traitor took his eyes off of the Staff and appraised the thief for a moment before returning to his task. Fouquet took the opportunity to continue.

"What are you after anyways? You were the Captain of the Tristanian Griffin knights, a figure of high position within your kingdom. What is someone like you hoping to gain by betraying your nation?"

Wardes paused to snort at the question. He then answered, though he never stopped working at the Staff of Destruction during that moment.

"I know why you are a thief, so you want to know why I'm a traitor? Sure, why not. Let me ask you this, Fouquet. What does it mean to be a figure of high position within Tristain?"

Fouquet tilted her head.

"I don't understand what you mean."

"Becoming a figure of high authority in Tristain is nice, I'll admit. The people respect you, the princess respected me, and I was beloved by pretty much everyone who met me. It was a nice feeling, and probably one I'll never get back again.

But at the end of the day, Tristain is dying. It's a small country, one which can only thrive through political intrigue and diplomacy. The princess merely hopes for peace, a world where her country can go unnoticed by the bigger countries surrounding her, Gallia and Germania. It's just like how commoners scurry about underneath the gaze of the nobles, doing whatever they can to avoid attracting attention because they know a noble could easily take away their properties and lives with a flick of a finger. It's a state of affairs that won't be able to last. Someday, probably within a hundred years, Tristain will be absorbed by one of those two countries, and her military will be forced to swear allegiance to the armies of one the great nations. All I'm doing is moving ahead of the curve, and casting my alliance with one of the greater powers."

"But then why Albion? Sure, it's protected by the powerful fleet it possesses. But given the fact that the rest of Helgekinia is annoyed at best with what it did to the Royal Family, there's absolutely no reason to cast your lot in with them. Tristain may fall within the next century, but Albion could fall within the next decade."

Wardes gave a thin smile at Fouquet's response.

"Who said anything about me allying with Albion?"

Fouquet was struck dumb by that question. It couldn't be that Wardes's real intention was an alliance with-

BANG.

The abrupt and sudden noise threw Fouquet back, but even then she realized that the Staff of Destruction had finally casted a spell. She saw… well, something shoot out of it, travel at an insane speed…

And then the fast moving object struck the Main-mast of the _Lexington_. There was a terrible, shuddering noise for several seconds, and then the tall mast, all 150 feet of it slowly began to tilt right and then with a final terrible groan collapse to the side of the ship, ripping through the upper deck.

"ARRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

While Fouquet could hear screams of horror from where the mast had collapsed, there was one right next to her, and she whirled around only to see Wardes howling in pain. Even Fouquet was horrified by what had happened to his right arm and chest. They had been badly burned, and his travelling cloak and mage robes were gone, leaving a mass of broken, black and red skin. He did not even attempt to conceal his pain, as he screamed from the horrific injuries he had just sustained. Lacking anything else, Fouquet removed her cloak and wrapped it around Wardes, and dashed off. She needed to inform the captain of this ship to descend, though no doubt he was already doing it given what had just occurred to the _Albion_. Though as she ran, she couldn't smile to herself. It appeared that Wardes had figured out how to use the Staff of Destruction after all.

Meanwhile, what the wizards called the Staff of Destruction but which other people would call a M72 Light Anti-Tank Weapon or LAW, continued to smolder, almost seemingly to take pleasure from the destruction which had been wrought from its one and only shot.


	11. The Fool: Chapter 9

"_Keep your friend close, and your enemies closer."_

Francis Coppola, _The Godfather Part II._

_..._

_..._

Three days after the departure of Giono, it was time for Louise and Napoleon to return to the Academy. It had been a mere two weeks, but Louise had decided that she had enjoyed the village enough, and sought to come back to the Academy. While Tarbes was relaxing, she had come to believe that it was only in the Academy where she could properly learn Void Magic, and nothing Napoleon could say would change her mind. While he had wished to stay with the books, a compromise was reached after discussing things with Siesta's father. He would return to the Academy for now and would not take any of the books with him, and in return Siesta's family promised that no one else would enter the hangar. For Napoleon, this would serve as a precaution in insuring that no one else would get their hands on the information he had discovered. Siesta would stay behind until the new term opened, and he knew that the young girl would make sure that the family would keep their promises. However, he would need to find a way to permanently remove those texts so that they would fall under his control.

Perhaps it was because of the roiling summer heat, but as the two rode across the plains connecting the Academy and Tarbes, they did not encounter a single orc on the return journey. Nevertheless, the heat remained a formidable enough opponent, and only Napoleon and the ancient sword strapped to his side remained unperturbed, continually urging Louise and the horses to keep going. The languid heat however meant that neither was prepared to exert too much energy, and so they rode back to the Academy nearly the entire way without even having a single proper conversation.

Louise was exhausted by the time they returned in the middle of the day, and she had all but fallen asleep atop her horse as they crossed the threshold of the Academy. Napoleon was forced to carry her extremely light body up the stairs. However, as he entered the girl's dormitory, he stopped. The door seemed to have been torn off its hinges, and likely very recently given that no repair work had been done. Setting Louise to the side of the doorway for her protection, he drew out Derflinger with the left hand, triggering the Gandflr runes. He shoved the door with great force using his shoulder, and rolled in, checking the area for occupants. There was one, a hooded figure whom was standing in the center of his partner's room.

"It's been a while, hasn't it, Emperor Bonaparte?"

He instantly recognized the voice, and even before Henrietta lowered the hood and looked at him, he lowered the weapon.

"You know, for a great familiar like yourself, partner, you don't spend a lot of time actually attacking people."

Napoleon slammed the sword back in its sheath in response to its quip, and thus the legendary blade understood that ancient and highly secretive message of "Shut up." Henrietta looked quizzically at the sword.

"A sentient blade. I have never seen anything like that before."

Napoleon shrugged.

"It's proven useful to me in the past. Anyways, I'm guessing that you're the one who managed to get in here? I didn't think that you would do such a thing, princess."

"I came here to talk to Louise, only to panic when she wasn't here. I guess I used a little too much of my magic when I was banging on the door."

Napoleon indicated outside, then picked up the sleeping girl and lifted her into her bed.

"She's tired. We've been riding for two days. Perhaps I could deliver any message you have for her."

Henrietta hesitated, and then looked at the girl who lay in her bed. She had important official business, but she had also wanted to talk to Louise for what may be their last time as childhood friends, and not as princess and subject. The wedding was set to occur in a week from today, but she would not have time to return to this Academy before then. She took out a small book and passed it to Napoleon.

"Open it. I'm sure you would have anyways after I left."

Napoleon complied and flipped through the pages. The book was empty. After waiting for him to look through it, Henrietta continued.

"This is the Founder's Prayer Book, an ancient and important artifact from Brimir himself. Tradition dictates that when the main members of the Royal Family are married, a maiden mage is selected to hold this book for the ceremony. I have decided that Louise will have the honor."

Henrietta finished, but right then Napoleon spoke up.

"There's more to it. You know Louise is not a highly organized person. If you wanted her to simply hold the book as a bridesmaid, you would have given it to her right before the ceremony. You want her to do something with it before you are married."

"You're right, there's more to it. The maiden mage is also supposed to write a blessing praising each of the four elements."

Napoleon nodded.

"Very well. I'll let Louise know as soon as she wakes up. You two really have been close your whole lives, haven't you?"

Henrietta smiled beatifically at that statement.

"I love Louise. I always have, always will. She is the dearest friend I could possibly ever have. But what about you, Napoleon? Did you have friends when you ruled your Empire?"

Napoleon shook his head in response as he stared outside at the sun.

"No, but neither have you."

"Did you not just hear me?"

"My partner is the friend of Henrietta de Tristain, the person who's in this room at the moment and whom just gave Louise a valuable artifact. But does Princess Henrietta, the ruler of Tristain, have a friend? Because if anyone knows that those two people aren't the same, it should be you. A ruler may have subjects whom adore and worship him, who wish to be as glorious and vibrant as the king. But if they actually obtain that level, whether from their own achievements or the indolence of the ruler, they will wonder why he possesses the sole right to rule and thus will destroy him."

He stopped there, but noted that while Henrietta said nothing, her gaze was resolute unlike the last time they had talked. He knew she had the potential to grow to be a fine ruler, depending on what threads were weaved for her. Nevertheless, even he was exhausted from the long ride, and a nap in the courtyard sounded like a wonderful idea.

"I thank you, Princess, for your gift to my partner. I promise she will perform well at your wedding."

He left the room and took a few more steps.

"Wait."

Henrietta's voice cut him off, and he turned around. She simply stood there for a bit, and slipped her hand in her pocket.

"I have something else for Louise. A gift. Something from one young girl to another, not as an exchange between a princess and her subject."

She removed her hand and held out a sparkling gold ring. There was a jewel on top, which shone a crystal clear blue.

"This is the Water Ruby, a treasure of the royal family. As the Princess of Tristain, I have no right or reason to give it to her."

She moved forward and put the jewel in his hand.

"But as a young girl who loves her friend, I can do so. Tell her I gave this to her as a present for everything she's done for me. And also…

Tell her I'm sorry for not talking with her when I could."

And with that, after trembling a little, she dashed out down the stairs and outside. Napoleon stood back. Even if he could never understand her way of ruling, one which preached justice but was incapable of maintaining the mask necessary for its impartiality, he could not despise or look down on her. She was still a sovereign, a proud one, one whom had achieved the legitimacy he had never obtained despite all of his conquests. So, she was still someone whom even an Emperor could respect, if not necessarily admire.

He took the ring, and set it on the dresser next to the mirror where Louise brushed her hair every morning, and sat down on the same chair. It was only then that he spoke up.

"Why did you not talk to her?"

Louise simply moved in response, and so Napoleon continued.

"I'm fairly certain she knew you were faking as well. You heard me talking down to her, as well as the gift she gave you. So why did you say nothing?"

She still said nothing. Napoleon stood up and walked to the door. It was only then that she heard it.

Louise was crying. Completely sobbing, and now that she knew Napoleon could hear her, she stopped trying to hold it back in. She began crying, both for her friend whom she knew she would likely not see again for a long time and for her shame in failing to hold in her tears. She knew that if her mother the Duchess Valliere saw her like this, she would have gone utterly berserk in her anger at her daughter. And so from her partner, she expected the same.

Instead, she felt herself being lifted up, and then there were a pair of arms around her neck. Napoleon had hugged her, with her face buried within his chest. And as Louise continued to cry, she warbled a phrase in her surprise.

"I-I thought, hic, that Emperors d-don't show mercy unless I-I've accomplished something important."

"You just watched your best, no your only friend leave, and you're likely to not see her for a long time. The fact that you didn't cry in front of her is enough of an accomplishment."

"S-shut up, partner. What could someone like you know who's n-never had a friend know?"

The words were accusing, but the tone was not. She was blustering, trying to hide her guilt and shame, and it made her all the more pitiful.

"It's true; I've never had a true friend. But I did have a lover."

"W-what? D-don't lie to me!"

"I'm not. I'll tell you about Josephine someday later. It's a stupid tale, one with two idiots whom failed at the roles which destiny had provided for their two mechanical performances."

He broke himself off, slipped on a coat, and stopped at the door.

"I'll be under the oak tree. Wake me up at sundown. But if you wake up before then, figure out some phrases for that book. You might as well start on that as you only have a week."

And so with that curt phrase, he headed down to the courtyard, the place where he had been summoned, for a long nap.

...

Oliver Cromwell, the Emperor of Albion and the head of the Reconquista did not know what to do. Just when things were ready, just when his plans for the conquest of Tristain and their Void artifacts were ready to be unveiled, this disaster had happened. The Main-mast of the _Lexington_, the pride of the Albion ship, had been destroyed. Wardes, the man whom he had put so much effort in to persuade him to betray his country, was in the hospital wing. His right arm had been amputated, and even then it was unclear if he would survive the horrific burns. At this point it was solely up to his will if he wanted to live. But even then, it would take at least a month even with the best magic for him to recover to the proper level of the former Captain of the Griffin Knights, and without his better arm, he might never ever reach that level again . And all because of the accursed Staff that was currently laying on top of his desk.

Fouquet stood in front of him, her wand in Cromwell's hand and two bodyguards with halberds at her slim neck. She had repeatedly told the same story of how Wardes was attempting to figure how the Staff worked, and then accidentally set it off, destroying the mast and burning himself in the process through fire which had appeared out of the end of the staff which had not launched the fast object. However, because all the sailors aboard were maneuvering the _Lexington_, there was no one who could corroborate her story. And Cromwell could not rule out the possibility that the thief had sold out.

"Look, how was I supposed to get out of the ship if I had done what you think I have? No amount of money is worth a job that will almost certainly result in my capture and execution! I have cast my loyalty with you, Cromwell. There is no way Tristain will ever accept me after what I did to their academy."

Fouquet angrily spoke again. There was no doubt that her logic was sound, Cromwell admitted. Furthermore, the fact remained that she seemed to genuinely not know how the Staff worked. Cromwell had promised her freedom if she could get it to fire again, yet no matter what she did, its magic would not repeat itself. The closest that resulted was a strange clicking noise which happened whenever she pressed something that looked like a trigger.

After further deliberation, Cromwell decided to hold her in the brig for the time being, and thus she was dragged off despite her vigorous protests.. He was left alone in his office next to the Reconquista Fleet and puzzled over what to do next.

The attack would go through, even without the _Lexington_. He knew that. If he waited for the ship to be repaired, Germania would go through with the marriage and alliance, and even the flagship of the Albion was not the equivalent of Germania's entire fleet. Nevertheless, the lost time needed to repair it as well as Wardes's wounds remained a severe blow.

Still, Cromwell remained generally unconcerned. Tristain's long focus on diplomacy and neutrality as a means of keeping the peace meant that while their sizes of their fleets were about the same, Tristanian ships were smaller and lacked as many guns. Furthermore, their officers were far less experienced, as most of the Reconquista officers naturally had had plenty of practice from the destruction of Albion's Royal Army. Defeating Tristain was something he was not seriously concerned about, even without the_Lexington._

Germania was the problem. Gallia was a slight concern, as Cromwell doubted that without the support of King Joseph, Reconquista would have succeeded at all. While he was grateful for the king's help, he couldn't understand what Joseph was after by helping him overthrow another fellow king, and Cromwell suspected that he might be a pawn in some scheme of the foppish blue-haired ruler. He would need to reassert the independence of Albion as soon as possible to prevent Joseph from gaining an undue influence on his country. But if Germania interfered, then actually conquering Tristain would be difficult if not impossible. Under the worst case scenario, he could simply bottle up his forces up in Albion, protected by their fleet, and work on securing the internal revolution. Still, the nobles would become nervous with such a move, and it was for that reason he had to move sooner than later, before the marriage.

Ultimately, he thought, he was over thinking things. You go to war with the army you have and not the one you want, after all. He would pour himself a glass of wine and get to sleep. Brimir knows, he would need to get as much shut-eye as he could before the hostilities would commence shortly.


	12. The Fool: Chapter 10

_All the world's a stage,  
>And all the men and women merely players:<br>They have their exits and their entrances;  
>And one man in his time plays many parts.<em>

-Shakespeare

...

...

In a bedroom, a pink-haired girl slept.

And as she slept, she had a dream.

She saw herself moving through horde of men, and she realized it was a magnificent army. The men cheered her on, and waved their wands and muskets through the air. Their equipment was new and their voices were strong.

"Long live Louise! Long live the Queen of Tristain!"

And she raised her hand in acknowledgement. This was it, the glory she had desired. There were jeers, no cries of "Zero." Louise had finally achieved the recognition and admiration that she always wanted.

She moved through the crowd, and the men continued their chants and praises. But as she continued to walk, she realized that there was something wrong with those chants.

These men were afraid. They weren't afraid of her, but of something else nearby. While their chants were bold, their bodies were trembling and nervous eyes flitted about. She could not tell what they were afraid of, and she continued to keep moving, through the men as they brandished their weapons.

The chants began to grow weaker as she moved through the soldiers, and by the time she had passed through them completely, they had completely stopped. She looked around past those soldiers, and realized that she was on a plain.

There was another army at the other end of the plain. It was much smaller compared to the one she had passed through, and they did not chant at all. They stood erect in a stony attention, their weapons in the proper positions, without a trace of the emotion one associates with battle. But even as they did absolutely nothing at all, she realized. It was this army that her men, even as loud as they were and as many numbers they possessed, were totally terrified of.

A black horse and his rider now moved to the front of the other army. He stopped when he emerged, and looked at Valliere. And it was only when he removed a peculiar pointed hat that she recognized him.

It was her partner, dressed in a splendid dark blue military uniform. He waved his hat through the air and then his men roared, with a noise that made the chanting of her larger army look puny and insignificant by comparison.

"Long Live the Emperor! Long Live the Emperor!"

Her army should have chanted in response to drown out the sounds of the opposing army. But they did nothing, and Louise watched herself do nothing. As her partner's army continued chanting, the sound of thunder appeared, drowning over even those yells. Rain then slowly trickled down, first sprinkling then turning into a giant torrent which drenched both sides. There was nothing but the sound of the weather for some seconds, and then the two armies with great cries, charged at each other.

Louise did not move. Neither did Napoleon. Both stood looking at each other, as if the armies moving to clash with each other simply did not exist. And when their armies met and blood began to flow, she finally understood.

This was Armageddon. The final battle of the world, and the one that would determine whether good or evil would triumph. But which side was good, and which was evil?

...

In a carriage to Tristania, a purple-haired princess slept.

And as she slept, she had a dream.

She saw herself in a tranquil field. Clear blue skies lapsed over a pleasant green field, while a few small clouds lazily drifted through the sky. Surrounding the plains was a great forest, with oaken trees towering up to heights she did not believe they could achieve.

She knew that she travelled a long way to see this land, where there was no sound but the wind blowing over the grass. And as she looked up at the endless sky, she realized that this was the dream which she hoped for. A peaceful land, with no conflict and an eternal quietness. This was the world which she hoped that her reign as Princess and then Queen would be able to create.

She heard a sound, and then turned around. Wales was standing at one end of the field. His blonde hair was waving in the wind, and he was not wearing the uniform of a soldier anymore. All he had on was some simple peasant clothes. But he did not seem to be perturbed by this in the slightest. On the contrary, he gave off a gentle and brilliant smile, the same smile which had caused her to fall in love with him all those years ago.

She was about to move forward, but then heard another noise and turned around. On the other end of the field was the Germanian Emperor. A great, well-built man with an expertly trimmed beard, his clothes were made of the finest furs and were adorned with splendid jewels. His face was slightly wrinkled as should be expected of a man in his forties, but the eyes gave off a strange expression of happiness. While he also smiled, the total expression served to make it look like he was leering as opposed to the gentle expression that Wales was wearing. It was only when seeing them together that Henrietta realized that the Emperor physically looked about as different from Wales as one could imagine.

Neither one spoke, nor did they move. They simply stood there, and Henrietta realized that they were waiting for her to move in their direction. And she could only move in one way. It was at the moment when she was supposed to enjoy her greatest triumph that she was confronted with arguably the most difficult decision. Who would remain supreme? The Princess of Tristain or the young girl?

As she hesitated, she realized that what were once a small few clouds had steadily grown in number. While they had not turned dark into threatening storm clouds, they would do so soon. Only through making a choice, and the right one, would she be able to avert their formation and prevent the rain from spoiling these gentle grasslands of peace.

And with the clouds looming over, Henrietta took a single step.

...

In a farmhouse, a black-haired maid slept.

And as she slept, she had a dream.

Tristania was burning. And Siesta was helping it burn.

She was not alone. There was a great mob with her, armed with pitchforks, torches, and anything she could get their hands on. Siesta herself carried nothing, but she envied those whom were holding a weapon, and desired to obtain one.

The group was throwing rocks past a high metal gate, and was using their weapons to bash at the gate. There were two men on the other side of the gate, holding halberds at the ready to fend off the mob attacking the lock, the hinges, whatever they could find. But the guards did not even attempt to hide the fact that they were terrified, and their fear encouraged the mob to keep attacking the gate.

The metal bars finally gave out, and the mob stormed through. The guards did not even possess a semblance of a chance, as they were descended upon and literally ripped apart to shreds. Siesta kept moving forward, and it was then that she saw what this mob was after.

It was a great palace, with high arches and pillars indicating the status of the man whom lived in there. But as the horde descended upon it, a single carriage emerged from the front entrance.

"There he is! Grab the bastard!"

Upon hearing the cry, the carriage swiveled around and headed towards another gate. However, it abruptly stopped upon seeing that there was another horde in front of that gate, and the lost time spent hesitating proved fatal. The crowd moved on the carriage, it was overturned; a single man fell out of it, with the wig he wore toppling off his hand and being trampled to dust. He was dressed in what looked like fine silk pajamas, which easily were designed for his great and comfortable girth.

"No…please, mercy!"

His cries meant nothing to the crowd. And Siesta watched with horror as she picked up a knife and was the first one to slash him across the face to the roars of the mob. As the maid watched the noblemen being butchered, and his head impaled on a pike, she began to wonder if she was even actually looking at herself.

...

In a distant castle, a blue-haired King slept.

And as he slept, he had a dream.

The mere fact that he was dreaming was strange. How could he, he who had felt no emotions after killing his brother so many years ago, dream? He could not recall ever possessing a dream before. Despite that, here he was, seeing himself falling.

For King Joseph Gaul found himself falling down a great black pit. There was nothing else but he and the sensation of falling. But as he plummeted down, something - some things – were rushing past him. They were numbers, words, and they rushed past him and up towards something even as he continued to fall.

He twisted himself around and looked at what they were rushing to, only to see nothing more than blackness. When he thought about it, were the numbers even moving at all, or was he falling? No, it was both, though he had no way of knowing how.

As he continued to fall, the numbers abruptly disappeared. Now there were replaced by people. Some he recognized from the past, like his brother. Some he knew from the present, like the recent familiar he had summoned. And some he did not recognize at all, though he hypothesized there were people he would meet in the future. There was only one constant with all of these different people.

They were all dead. Some had peaceful, serene expressions, while others gaped in horror or bled horrifically from various parts of their bodies. But there were no exceptions to what he saw as he continued to fall. Every single one of them was dead somehow, yet all of them seemed to recognize at Joseph. Some laughed at him, some raged at him, but not a single person smiled at him.

Finally, he realized that the bottom of the pit was near, and that soon he would impact. The stream of bodies flying up began to slow down, but right before he struck the ground, there was one last body that flew up, the only corpse he saw that smiled.

His own.

...

Under a tree, an Emperor slept.

And as he slept, he had a dream.

He was on a beach, looking at the waves. He had never been one to understand the ocean, but even he could see how small and pathetic these tiny waves were. There was no sense of grandeur about them as they made little inroads upon the sand, only to vanish while barely making a dent.

He turned around, and saw a little bungalow. It was a small gray house, the type owned by a mediocre merchant whom wanted a small retreat not for the purposes of relaxation, but just to brag to his friends that he owned a bungalow. A small French flag waved in front of the house, but the lack of wind meant that it just sadly drooped in front of the house.

Turning his back on the bungalow, he took a walk on the beach. But just a short time later, he stopped, as he noticed that he was back where he started. There was only one conclusion. He was on a small pathetic island, alone and unrecognized, with nowhere to live in but a miserable cottage.

He realized it then at last. This was the exile which he was to have been sentenced after his defeat by the Sixth Coalition. But he was no longer on Earth. Had he been defeated and sentenced to the same fate on Helgekinia? He did not know how he had come here, or where he would go next. But even if he was to be sentenced to such a dreary and depressing place, he would return. No matter what the obstacles and consequences were, the nature of the ruler was to take everything, all as a means of showing his own greatness off to the entire world.

So he removed his shirt, and jumped into the water. If he had no other means of doing it, then he would use his own body. He would swim back to Tristain, France, whatever world or land he was in. And eventually he would return to a country from which he could start his plans once again. That was all that mattered to him. Obtaining absolute power, absolute authority, this was and could be the only wish he possessed. And so somehow Napoleon both swam and watched himself swim on, to a destination whose location he did not know and at great risk. As he knew he was going "somewhere", it did not matter.

...

And so, these people dreamed on the last night of peace. They were commoners and nobles, magicians and the skill-less alike. But in sleep, they were all equal, and all possessed things they wished for and did not wish for, even if they did not necessarily dream of those desires on this night. Even if Napoleon had been summoned to a completely different world, humans still existed in this place, and so they all would push forward to fulfill their wish.

But no matter what world one will go to, no matter how far one will reach, there will never be a world where the desires of all humans are fulfilled, and which will lead to struggle as some humans inevitably obtain their desires at the expense of others. And so the various actors of the play in this ancient land moved down the inevitable road of conflict and war.

...

**END OF PART I**


	13. The Hanged Man: Chapter 1

**PART II:**

**THE HANGED MAN**

"_Victorious warriors win first, and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first, and then seek to win."_

Sun Tzu

...

...

BANG BANG BANG

The sound of heavy knocking caused Cromwell to stir from his desk. Groggily stirring about, his flailing arms caused the glass of wine that was atop to fall off, smashing into pieces. Cursing, he started to make his way to the door, only to remember that he had left it unlocked.

"Come in, come in already!"

The door opened in response, and the Commander of the Albion Air Force, Henry Bowood strode in. He had been promoted to the chief rigger of the _Lexington _in the aftermath of the Reconquista Revolution for his bravery in destroying two enemy ships, and then became its captain. However, as a result of the damage that the ship had undergone, Cromwell had made the decision to go ahead and make Bowood the head of Albion's Air Force.

Bowood saluted Cromwell, who paused for a bit before mockingly returning it. The newly crowned Emperor of Albion was genuinely surprised that Bowood, a man who was a royalist at heart, would ever do such a gesture towards the person he considered a usurper. Still, he was a man who chose not to involve himself with politics, and he was extremely valuable. Even ignoring the fact that Bowood had shown himself to be a man of courage and skill, he served as symbol to people within Albion that supporters of the Ancien regime still had a place, thus reducing the chances of a revolt.

"How long will it take for the Main-mast to be repaired? And Wardes?"

"The ship will take a week at most, and there have been no further updates on the Captain. Whether he dies or lives remains completely up to him at this point, sir. Anyways, I came to reconfirm our strategic plan with you before the conflict begins. Are there any concerns?"

Cromwell pursed his fingers while thinking a bit to Bowood's answer. He was not a great commander, and he was wise enough to know that and leave his war up to the generals. His personal priority was ensuring the domestic security of Albion, safeguarding the Revolution, and dealing diplomatically with King Joseph – Cromwell was just as concerned about Gallia exercising undue influence on his country as he was about the war. Still, for the leader to not know the war plans would be inexcusable.

"No, I have no problems. Do you have a map?"

Bowood waved a scroll he was holding and moved towards the desk, unrolling and securing it. It was a map of Tristain, and he believed it to be of a very good quality to showcase exactly how he intended to strike.

"Even without the _Lexington_, this war shouldn't be too difficult. To begin with, we need to simply observe the amount of forces each side possesses. Our Air Force consists of 183 ships, while we believe Tristain to have about 90 and supposing Germania does enter on the side of Tristain, they have a little more than that. We possess the advantage, however, due to the superior range of the new cannons which our alchemists have provided and the greater experience of our sailors. As I'm sure you're aware, under the absolute worst-case scenario, we are fully capable of retreating to Albion and ensuring our safety with the Fleet. We will never feel those foreign boots upon our shore.

Tristania, the capital is in the northeast corner of the country, and we theoretically could swoop down upon it and capture their Princess. However, that's not realistic. If we are to take and hold the country, we need a port, and probably more than one. We can funnel men and supplies through there, and thus use our superior resources to simply grind them down.

Given our overwhelming advantage in resources compared to Tristain, there's no need for complicated strategies. If Germania doesn't help, simply swamp them with superior and more numerous soldiers and men."

"Then what do you intend to do if Germania does help?"

"Retreat."

There was no response. Cromwell simply looked up at the map and stared at Bowood in disbelief. However, the commander took that moment to continue.

"We'll retreat to Albion and hole up here. The priority then will to make sure that we can maintain air dominance over the two nations. After securing, we'll rely on the dragon knights and our ships not to invade Tristain, but rather to simply raid and scorch the terrain. I do not think we'll be actually capable of conquering and holding Tristain if Germania interferes, as their army is simply too large and powerful for us to handle. What we can do is cripple Tristain so they will be more than willing to negotiate and offer terms that are beneficial to us."

"So what is your opening strategy?"

"Once again, it's nothing complicated."

Bowood took a nearby quill pen and pointed at the map.

"Here, in the southwest, nearly at the opposite corner of Tristania is the city of La Rochelle. It is Tristania's largest port, and needs to be the first place we capture. Fortunately, that should be easy to accomplish. There is a nearby village, Tarbes, which has the proper terrain for the initial embarking and disembarking of our men. We will send the entire fleet, 3 columns of sixty ships which will attack any of the ground forces in the area. A quick landing of approximately 3000 veteran soldiers should be the most efficient means to simply capture and hold La Rochelle for a brief period, which we'll use to get the rest of the army intact. If we can take La Rochelle with its port facilities undamaged, the war will be basically won at that point."

Cromwell grunted in approval. It was a simple strategy, and the best plans were always simple.

"Very well, Bowood. I like the plan. In 24 hours, the attack will begin. Ready your men and prepare to fight for your country."

"Sir, I do have one question."

"Yes?"

"I've formulated a plan to take Tristain for the glory of Albion. But what are you after? To launch a war and invade another country generally requires a good reason. Do you have one?"

Cromwell had remained mostly expressionless while Bowood had delivered his strategy talk. Now, however, he gave a massive grin.

"Of course I do! The country is hiding Wales, which is a sign of how they oppress the people by hiding an evil monarch like him! Thus, it is our duty to spread freedom while also punishing those evildoers in Tristain for not returning a wanted man!"

His statement was insincere, and no one in the room was fooled by it. Bowood realized that he was fighting a war for nothing more than one person's self-satisfaction. The fact that his country had fallen so low remained something that had and still continued to horrify him.

Still, Bowood thought, he was a soldier, and he must obey. So, with a final salute, he clicked his heels and strode out the door. It was only when he was a safe distance from Cromwell's office that he punched the nearby wall.

…

"I'll say you've improved a lot over these last few weeks, Valliere."

Napoleon and Louise sat on opposite ends of a tree. The latter was breathing too hard to properly respond, and even Napoleon was sweating. Her running had been getting faster and faster to the point where even a military man like himself had to start giving effort to ensure that they went at the same pace. After all, he knew that after all he had put her through in their physical training; her mockery of him would have no end if she ever actually surpassed him. While they didn't do much beyond calisthenics and running, she had physically improved to a large degree.

He stood up, and moved over to her.

"Come on, we should get going. I'll actually help you with that prayer you're supposed to write for once. You've really had no success with that thing, have you?"

She made an annoyed sound and started to get up, but then Louise fell down. Her left leg stuck straight out even after she fell, and it was clear she was in pain.

"My…knee…" Louise moaned, and Napoleon brought up his right hand towards his face.

"Louise, you didn't injure your knee just now, did you?"

"About ten minutes ago, I guess."

He rubbed his face some more, wondering about his partner. She always complained about the runs, but now she was determined enough to keep running with a hurt knee?

"You idiot. Are you even capable of standing?"

Louise struggled to her feet at the question, and then promptly fell back down again. How was she going to get back in this condition?

"Up you go."

Then she started as she heard his words, and especially so as she was promptly lifted up and put on Napoleon's back. What was this? Her father had given her piggyback rides as a small child of course, but for her partner to do it to her at this age?

"Y-you idiot! What are you doing, what are you doing? I order you to put me down at once!"

"And leave you under the tree? Forget it. I'm dragging you to Osmond. He's probably the best chance of getting your knee checked out, since the staff is still gone. You've still got a month left at the school, right?"

Louise continued to protest, and Napoleon continued to ignore her. And so as they bickered, and the girl whacked an Emperor upside the head a few times, the two set off towards the office.

"By the way," Napoleon asked, "I see you're wearing the Water Ruby. Are you sure about that?"

"It's a gift from Her Majesty. I will defend it with my life."

As they marched up the stone steps leading up to Osmond, they could hear voices, but paid no attention as they moved up. As Napoleon had his hands full, he chose to simply kick the door open, and it was at that moment that he heard the phrase.

"Yes, I'm sure! Tristain and Albion are at war!"

Osmond and what appeared to be a messenger both stopped and glanced at the two who entered the doorway. Louise gasped and promptly fell off Napoleon's back, pulling herself up in a nearby chair. Even then, her eyes widened.

"Osmond?"

The old headmaster turned towards the pair, and Louise looked back. The messenger quickly saluted and ran out the door, as Osmond gazed at his back. Then he fell back in his chair.

"I guess it was inevitable. I wished it wouldn't happen, but it did. And now Tristain will have to focus on defending ourselves. Now what can I do for you two?"

The headmaster seemed to have been aged even further by this news, and Louise trembled at how poorly he looked before speaking.

"It's my knee, but war, Osmond? What'll happen to us? Are we going back to our families? Will the school be closed?"

"You'll be able to stay here indefinitely. God knows your families will be busy preparing for the war. Good grief, good grief, first the Fouquet disaster and now this?"

The old man began musing on some conflict he had been in the past, while Louise thought back on her family. What would they do? Would her mother fight, Karin of the Heavy Wind? Was this invasion force something so terrible that even she wouldn't be able to handle it, that woman who had remained merely the stuff of legend? And what was she to do? Stay here and do nothing, or help the fight somehow like treating the wounded or fighting with Void magic or just delivering messages or –

"_Merde."_

Both her and Osmond turned and realized that Bonaparte had uttered a single word. Unlike much of what he had spoken in the past, they did not recognize that word. But somehow they both knew what it meant. For the first time since they had met, Napoleon was furious. His face barely hid a snarl and his arms clutched his sides, barely concealing that he wanted to commit grave violence on anything nearby.

And then, without a word or even paying attention to his injured partner, he ran down the stairs.

He had known, of course. He had lived through one Revolution and was its product, he had been absolutely certain that this world's revolution would eventually spread itself past Albion. But he hadn't thought they would strike so soon. From what he had managed to piece together through letters with Giono and other sources, the new Reconquista government had finally just defeated the rest of the Royal family. He had expected at least six months, more likely a year for them to organize themselves and then attack the smallest and weakest country in Helgekinia. Not three weeks.

The fact that they struck this soon was a major crisis for him, probably the biggest one yet since he had come here. He was above all an artilleryman, something which requires great skill at proper positioning so that the cannons may do maximum damage. As a result, he had always been a general who was particularly skilled at looking at maps and using the terrain to its greatest advantage. It was through doing that that he had managed to trick the Austrians and Russians into leaving their defenses at Austerlitz among other victories. He had known that the invasion would come sooner or later, and he had examined maps and thus knew where the Reconquista would strike first. In order to ensure supplies, they would need a port. In order to get a port, they would strike at the biggest one in Tristain, which was La Rochelle. And in order to get to La Rochelle, Tarbes would likely be the first target of the Albion forces due to its grassy plains that would be easy to move across. Siesta lived there, but more importantly, so did the plane and the books. Letting those things fall under the hands of anyone else was incredibly dangerous. Even if he was wrong and they wouldn't be capable of someday figuring out what they meant, there still remained the risk of their destruction. And under the worst case, they would figure it out, and they would have the time to browse through the entire collection unlike him. Such a scenario had to be avoided at any cost

He found himself in Louise's room instinctively, and quickly changed. He put on the uniform that he had been wearing on the day he was summoned – he was a soldier after all, not a mage. As he took a quick glance at the mirror in her room, he grumbled that he would really need to make a copy of one of his bicorne hats, as it made the whole appearance so much better. He also didn't put on the greatcoat due to the summer heat.

He dashed down the stairs, out of the dormitory tower, but then he abruptly stopped as he crossed its threshold. In front of him, about 30 feet in front of him, stood Louise with her wand pointed directly at him.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Napoleon grimaced and put one hand in his shirt. Where he kept the pistol hidden, just in case.

"How are you moving with your knee?"

"It wasn't that bad, apparently. Osmond helped fix it while you were running around changing, but it still hurts. But that's not that important right now. Again, where do you think you're going?"

Napoleon didn't move his feet, but his hand held the pistol a little tighter as he spoke. It was just a precaution, after all.

"I'm heading to Tarbes, immediately."

"Osmond told me that's where the Albion forces are landing, and he's extremely concerned about Siesta. But you're not, are you? You're panicking, but over that plane and the contents inside."

"Fine, I won't deny it. But you should know that if Albion gets their hands on those books, Tristain is doomed."

Louise continued to point her wand at him as she spoke.

"If those books really are so important, you should have done something else with them besides try to keep them for yourself."

"Perhaps, but that's in the past. What's important is preventing Albion from getting them."

"Well, what are you going to do then? You can't be expected to deal with Albion by yourself!"

"I won't be by myself."

"Who else? Giono? He's a printer; he's useless in a battlefield!"

Louise's voice was growing steadily shriller, and her wand hand was trembling. But Napoleon shook his head.

"Henrietta."

"What? But she's getting married!"

"Henrietta is headstrong, brave, and loves her country. As princess, she'll know where the Albion forces are. If she isn't in Tarbes herself by tomorrow afternoon with whatever forces she can muster, I'll be utterly shocked."

There was more to it, but Napoleon conveniently left that out. Henrietta wouldn't win – no, it was explicitly _because_ she would show up there that they wouldn't win. The amount of forces she would be mustering up in such a short timeframe would be limited. Meanwhile, Albion had no doubt been preparing for this war for quite a while, meaning that their soldiers would no doubt be both superior in numbers and experience. If Tristain were to have any hope of victory, their tactics would have to compensate. However, even if such a general existed within their Army, something which Napoleon did not believe, he would definitely be a noble whom would concede to Henrietta, a young lady with no experience of war. Tristain was going to face another disaster soon. But that didn't matter to Napoleon. Those books would need to be rescued or possibly destroyed at any price.

Louise said nothing in response to Napoleon's statement, who took that gesture as a sign of acceptance, even though her wand was still raised. He turned around and had begun walking to the horses when she spoke up.

"Fine. You can go. But I'll be going with you."

"I seem to recall that Osmond told you to stay behind."

She trembled in anger in response towards what was basically a blunt refusal. And then she finally exploded.

"You know what? You make me run insane distances, you always berate me, you ignore me for some books, and now you tell me to stay behind! I'VE HAD IT! I am going to Tarbes if you are going, and no one will stop me, not the princess, not Osmond, and especially not you! Because in case you forgot, I AM YOUR MASTER!"

She stopped at the last word, after realizing what she had just said. How would he react, he who had always stressed that there were equal? There was only silence, and Louise wondered how he would erupt in response to what was to him a clearly derogatory word. Perhaps she should try to take it back?

And then she heard a booming laughter. It was an odd, jovial expression, totally unsuited for an argument. And then ignoring the fact that she still had her wand pointed at him, Napoleon strode forward, and put his left hand on her head. From that distance, the two stared into each other's eyes. And he wasn't furious at all, as that great, silly grin on his face showed.

"You really do have more qualities than your magic, Valliere. To have guts is the second most important quality in a soldier."

He once again gave that booming laughter and Louise thought about asking what the first quality was. He continued before she could do so.

"Fine, we'll go. But are you ready, Louise? It may be a long time until we return to the Academy. We may never return. Do you think that even after you've gone through that you can keep up with me?"

The statement was calm and authoritative, but Louise knew that this was a challenge. It was a test of everything she had undergone the last three months, to see if she was no longer a failure. And so in response she gave off her own grin and roared right back at him from the close distance they were at.

"What are you talking about, Napoleon? You need to make sure you can keep up with me!"

…

Sir Johnston, the commander of the Albion landing forces, strutted about as he stroked his mustache. This war would be easy, and there wasn't much to think about. A quick campaign where those inferior Tristains would be conquered and integrated into Albion, it was clear that he was confident. Bowood, that sniveling traitor whose real loyalty was to the Crown, would simply stand around and do some bombarding. Meanwhile, his ground forces would do the real work in capturing Tarbes, than taking La Rochelle and thus winning the war. No, it wouldn't be a war – wars meant great deeds and valor, and against a people this puny, there likely wouldn't be any. He had no doubt that the amount of blood that would be needed to take Tarbes would be capable of being mopped up with a handkerchief he carried.

The soldiers below him, veterans of the Reconquistan campaign, murmured as they read the leaflets that had been printed. They were official documents, explaining the reasons for war. While most of the soldiers couldn't read, they were pictures of a fat, lazy Wales stabbing innocent civilians and then another one of him hiding behind another monarch, that princess Henrietta. It made the impression.

He pulled out his own copy which he had obtained. It was worn and ragged from constant reading, but it was a truly valiant piece of work.

_Soldiers of the Reconquista!_

_Your nation thanks you for your service! While we have restored our ancient rights, there is still much to be done! The tyrant who ruled these lands has fled to Tristain, where he is hidden by his cousin who refuses to uphold justice!_

_Thus, we must be the hammer who smites the strong and uplifts the weak! We shall attack this country that condones these tyrants and murderers, and let them see our power! Do not show mercy, for they are all monarchist sympathizers alike!Let Brimir decide which Tristanians are just and unjust! Only then will we find the Crown Prince of Wales, whom will finally be made to answer for his crimes against us._

_May the Republic last ten thousand years with your bravery!_

"Sir?"

Johnston looked around to see that an aide approached from behind. The two saluted each other, and the aide delivered his message.

"Bowood has signaled that he will begin the attack within five minutes. Are there any final preparations, sir?"

Johnston paused to fiddle with the saber at his side before responding.

"Order the men to check their muskets and weapons. We have declared war, now let the attack begin."


	14. The Hanged Man: Chapter 2

"_There is no instance of a nation benefitting from prolonged warfare."_

Sun Tzu

…

…

Siesta laughed as she watched her young siblings run around in the field, though it couldn't cloud the sadness in her heart. She would be leaving in three days, to head back to the Academy and to her work as a maid. Her father would be coming along, just to make sure that she made it safely. The orc population had apparently grown more restless these days, and a lone female traveler carrying no weapons was something which would just be asking for trouble. Still, she could spend what little time she had left watching her younger brothers and sisters make flower necklaces and play tag.

She thought about the fact that her parents had asked her if she had found a man at the Academy, and she had been forced to admit that it just wasn't plausible there. There were no servants at the Academy whom she had an interest in, and she could hardly be expected to strike a relationship with the nobles in that way. Many of them respected her helpfulness, and she had come to believe that Louise was a good friend, but some of them would on the best of days act like she didn't exist. On the worse days, there were the curses and insults when she hadn't scrubbed or cooked to their exacting standards. Even then, she accepted her job with a smile worthy of a proper maid. Perhaps she stretched it a bit too wide at times, but she did truly like her job, especially at a place that prestigious. The only male commoner who wasn't a member of the staff that she met on a regular basis was Louise's familiar, and while he was clever and charming, he was just too old for her.

"Big sis, big sis, there's a ship over there!"

She was awakened from her reverie by one of her brothers who had dashed up to her. After colliding and hugging his beloved older sister, he then pointed in the distance. Siesta gazed in that direction, and it was without a doubt a military ship judging from its size. But what was it doing here? It looked like it was coming from the west as well, which was where Albion was. There was no reason for an Albion ship to be here unless…oh no.

The little boy felt Siesta tremble, and looked up.

"Hey, Pierre, can you go get your brothers and sisters? Please?"

Siesta kept up that perfect smile she had learned in the Academy as she asked her brother. However, he didn't move at all.

"Big Sis? Is something wrong?"

"No, there's nothing wrong. Now will you please get your brothers and sisters?"

He still didn't move. Why didn't he move? She was his big sister! Didn't he trust her?

"Big Sis? Are you sure you're fine?"

"I said I'm fine. Take your brothers and sisters and go back in the house. Now."

"But-"

"NOW!"

For a brief instant, the smile cracked, and Siesta yelled at her little brother with an expression of anger and irritation. As Pierre in his fear dashed off to fetch his siblings, Siesta reproached herself for losing control as she watched his back. What was she doing? He was her little brother and he was concerned about her. She should be happy, not yelling at him!

She was just tired. Yes, tired. After all, it was only for a moment where she had yelled at her brother. She would need to head back in the house and get some rest. But she couldn't do that, because she could guess why an Albion ship was here approaching the village. It was absolutely confirmed when the lone ship was followed by at least ten more behind it.

She ran back towards the house, and saw that her parents were in the doorway, pointing at the ship. Their expressions were scared, and upon seeing their oldest daughter, they ran inside the house.

"Father, it's a war. Albion's invaded us!"

Siesta's father shook his head.

"That's impossible. They've been fighting their own revolution for a while now, and now they're going to attack another country? I can't believe it."

"Then what are they doing here, father?"

"I don't know, I don't know. I need to make sure all of you are safe."

Then the first of the dragon knights appeared. These were the pride of Albion's Air Force, even more so than the _Lexington_. For the _Lexington _was just a ship, however great and terrible it was. The dragon knights represented tradition and history for the island country. Their mountains had created harsh world for the flame-breathing beasts to live in, meaning that the weak were weeded out and only worthy beasts were used for battle. Taming a dragon was naturally incredibly difficult, and was a process which could take years, meaning that these were not expendable soldiers. But despite the difficulties, when the dragon was tamed, true bonds were always formed between the beast and its rider. Once a dragon had accepted a rider, it would never accept another even if the rider perished.

These knights had lifted off from the nearby ship, and thus proceeded to attack the peasantry even as they offered no resistance. Siesta screamed as the home of a nearby neighbor was set aflame and an old woman dashed out with her head lit.

"Siesta! Take your siblings and run to the forest!"

Her parents ran to the barn, and Siesta was too shocked to scream and ask them what they were doing. But then Pierre tugged at her skirt, and she realized that he had finally managed to collect them. There was no laughter, but neither were there tears at watching nearby houses burn up. The sight to these children was too bizarre for them to even comprehend. Nevertheless, their presence caused Siesta to awaken from her trance.

"All of you! We need to get to the forest, now!"

As they took off running, Siesta wondered if they would make it. They were just children, and she was a woman. The dragons wouldn't surely attack them, would they? She turned back, and saw that while the dragons had ignored her, their house was now burning. Suppressing her tears in the face of her siblings, the group ran into the trees.

As they hid, they watched the destruction of their village. Some of the children began to cry, but Siesta urgently told them that they had to remain silent. As the dragons continued to torch the village, Siesta thought. What would they do next? Would they land soldiers here, to burn and pillage, or do something even worse than that? Or would they continue on? But if they did land here, then -

Siesta stood up, and her siblings looked up at her.

"Everyone, there's something really important I need to do right now. Do not move from here, no matter what! Unless I come back or Mommy or Daddy comes here, you stay right where you are! Okay?"

Her brothers and siblings were too terrified to speak, and some of them just nodded without thinking. Siesta left the forest, and dashed into the village, towards her burning house.

…

There was no hesitation from Henrietta this time. Her country was under attack, and she would defend it. Perhaps if Albion had used a sneakier method of attacking, then the nobles would have hesitated to fight, which would have been to the benefit of the invaders. However, they had submitted a formal declaration of war, stating that Henrietta's refusal to return the Crown Prince and her royal tyranny over her people was sufficient basis for them to start a "war of liberation." While some of the nobles had urged that the Prince be returned to avoid war, most of the nobles realized it for the petty diplomatic trick that it was. If Henrietta returned the Prince to Wales to be executed, then Albion would have just searched for another excuse for the invasion. It wouldn't have mattered if the nobles had proclaimed that Wales should be returned anyways. Henrietta had made a decision. After a long, animated discussion with both Wales and Agnes on the day he had returned, she had decided that she would protect him from Albion no matter what, and made him a guest within the palace. It was the vow that one monarch made to another, after all. And it was definitely not a vow like lovers would make! It was different! They had not done anything romantic towards each other yet, after all!

As the nobles had quickly moved to the defense of the realm, Henrietta had managed to scrap together more forces than she had thought possible. Around 5000 Tristainian soldiers, with a very high percentage being mages, were capable of moving on short notice, and so she had made the decision to move forward to the defense of Tarbes. Her generals had pleaded that it was unsound, that the Albion air force would devastate them. But she was charged with defending the entire realm. They would not retreat!

As a result of her urgency, she had ordered her soldiers to march from Tristania to Tarbes, and thus for sixteen hours they had done so without a single break. Now, as they were only a few miles eastward of the village, Henrietta began to feel nervous. She wondered what her exact role in combat should be. Should she charge out there as a role model, or stand back and direct the soldiers? And above all, would she behave as a proper ruler of Tristain in the upcoming battle? It would be the first time that she would encounter the horrors of war which she had been taught about as a child, and Henrietta above wanted to show that she was capable of being a proper ruler, both in peace and war.

It was at that moment that Agnes rode back. The captain had been appointed to lead the cavalry, and thus they were acting as scouts as well as safeguarding against any surprise or flanking maneuvers.

"Your Majesty, I have urgent news for you. Could you please stop for a moment? "

"What is it, Agnes? We're nearly there, there's no time to rest."

"It'll still be at least another hour until we encounter Albion forces. Striking as soon as possible is important, but this march has been too much. The men are exhausted."

She had hardly been the first soldier to state that a pause was necessary, but Henrietta grumbled that even the captain of the Musketeers was saying that it would be necessary to take a rest. Then she looked down at the unicorn she was riding. They were magical beasts of the royal family, and while they lacked the strength and size of horses, they were faster and more durable. And even it was panting in exhaustion.

"Fine," Henrietta decided. "There's a nearby brook in the distance. We'll rest when we arrive there."

Even as she dismounted her mount, Henrietta never stopped to look forward in the direction of Tarbes. While Agnes was unable to conceal her concerned expression about her Princess's over eagerness, she continued to speak about what her scouts had encountered.

"Some of our forward scouts have encountered two riders. We believe that your Majesty would have a prime interest in meeting them."

"Are they Albion cavalry? We have already discussed that we shall treat all prisoners with proper care."

"No, your Majesty. It appears that a friend of yours, Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière, was foolish enough to ride to Tarbes. Apparently my scouts said there was someone else with her, a man in what appears to be a military uniform, but with a design that they had never seen before. They've stated that they had business in Tarbes, but they'll only say what to you."

Henrietta wondered what to do with them. There was no denying that she was surprised to hear that her good friend had appeared, but she was naturally extremely concerned about Louise entering a place that would soon be a battlefield. She considered telling Agnes to order them to turn back, but then realized that they both knew it. They had to have a reason for coming to this place.

"Bring them here. I wish to talk to them both."

…

As Louise and Napoleon arrived at what was appearing to be a makeshift camp, the Emperor took notice of every detail of the soldiers of the Royal Army as they lay in the setting sun. They were clearly an exhausted and bedraggled bunch from long marching. Most of the soldiers were carrying what appeared to be matchlock muskets or pikes and had short swords strapped to their sides, antiquated weapons by Napoleon's standards. Some soldiers were in fact not holding any weapons at all, and while Napoleon figured that most of those people were mages, he couldn't rule out the possibility that some of the soldiers had simply dropped their weapons out of exhaustion. But it was the lack of cannon which was the biggest problem. As far as Napoleon could tell, they weren't carrying any at all, likely because of the speed which they had been marching. As far as he was concerned, an army without artillery was just a giant mob. Even if they had magic as opposed to his armies, the range which a soldier could point a wand and cast magic was limited compared to a proper 12 pounder.

All of this became irrelevant once Napoleon and Louise finally encountered Henrietta. She was standing next to another woman with short blonde hair, dressed as a knight. Napoleon couldn't help but wonder what this strange world was where women were not only fighters, but good ones. Like her master, they likely substituted magic for physical strength, but given that to have strength and skilled magic would be the best combination, were women simply better mages in this land? Now that he thought about it, he never really knew any of the male mages at the Academy, even before the Fouquet disaster. If he had the time in the future, perhaps he would fix that.

Henrietta stayed where she was when they arrived, only to suddenly dash up to Louise and encloses her in a tight hug. For the next few minutes, the two laughed in each other's arms as they talked about nothing important in general. Even if they were about to enter a battlefield, they remained happy to see each other. Then as they broke apart and Louise moved to Napoleon's side, Henrietta turned towards him.

"Greetings, Bonaparte. May I ask what you're doing at this particular time?"

Napoleon crossed his arms to her inquiry and gave a relaxed smile.

"Well, you certainly got here a lot faster than I expected, Princess. If anything, probably too fas-"

His words were cut off as the knight moved forward in front of Henrietta, putting her pistol in Napoleon's face.

"Who are you commoner, and what do you think you're doing speaking to your princess like that?"

Louise panicked at the danger her partner was in, as the knight was clearly ready to kill him for his casual way of speaking to the Princess. She instinctively pointed her wand at the knight, only to shriek again once she realized that she had just threatened the bodyguard of her dearest friend. Agnes tilted her face for a second to look at the screaming girl, only for her eyes to widen. During the miniscule timeframe in which she had moved, Napoleon had pulled out his own pistol and was pointing it at her head.

"I could ask you nearly the same thing, woman. What do you think you're doing speaking to me like that?"

Agnes glowered, and a few seconds passed as the Mexican standoff continued. Then Henrietta spoke up.

"Will both of you put your weapons down, now? I'll introduce both of you properly to each other later."

It was artfully framed. The statement was strong enough so that Agnes's loyalty to her Princess would make her obey, while it was not so strong that Napoleon would interpret it as a command and thus refuse to comply. The two lowered their weapons, but through their glares, they continued to shoot sparks at each other. Napoleon broke the silence by speaking directly to Henrietta.

"As I was saying, you got here a lot faster than I expected. How long have you been marching?"

"At this point, we've been moving for about seventeen hours."

"Without rest, right?"

"Yes."

The statement was strong and without guilt, but Napoleon's hand covered his face in response.

"You're a complete idiot, princess. Seventeen hours without rest? You'll be lucky if you have half the men you started out with. And you did it for utterly no good reason."

"What are you talking about? I am a ruler! I must protect my country! If you're a ruler, you should know that one must protect his people! If Tarbes is under attack from Albion, then it is my duty to protect such an important village!"

"Yes, it is."

Everyone around Henrietta simply stared at what Napoleon just said. She had to protect Tarbes, but he also berated her moving men to protect it?

"What are you talking about, you madman?"

Napoleon rubbed his face a bit more before ignoring Agnes's statement.

"Tarbes is very important, but you don't know why it's important, Henrietta. And so you moved your men at an insane speed for something which from your perspective shouldn't be an important objective."

"What. Are. You. Talking. About?"

"Tarbes itself really doesn't possess any value. There are two concerns with Albion possessing it, neither of which have to do with the village itself. The most urgent is that there is an extremely valuable magical artifact in the village."

Well, it wasn't magical, but Napoleon wasn't going to tell them that.

"If Albion gets their hands on it, it's over. I'd really like to secure and keep it, but it looks like it's too late for that. Consequently, we'll need to destroy it, and I know where it is."

"Well, where is it! Get out with the information already!"

Napoleon continued to ignore everything that Agnes said as he talked.

"There's no point in attacking now. Your men are exhausted and they'll be slaughtered by Albion's famous dragon knights. Henrietta, you need to wait until nightfall. Then take your best soldiers, and launch an attack then. The only goal should be to destroy the artifact, the Dragon's Raiment. Then you retreat."

The princess shook her head at Napoleon's advice.

"But if they take Tarbes, they'll take La Rochelle! And if that happens, we're lost! I have to fight here, while their numbers are limited!"

"That's the second concern about letting Albion have the village. But there's a way to deal with that."

Napoleon pulled out a map from a knapsack he was carrying and pointed at various locations. Agnes and Henrietta stared at what he advocated, and then they gasped on seeing what he had planned.

"But that's insane! If that goes wrong, it's over! We'll be defeated right there."

For the first time, Napoleon acknowledged Agnes's words as he shrugged in response.

"It's possible, I'll admit that much. But I'm going to tell you right now the alternative. There will be no sign from Brimir, no ridiculous magic that is going to turn this around. The Albion strategy is patently obvious. They won't have one, and will seek to grind you down with superior resources. Your choices are clear. You either make a bold stroke where you can seize a decisive victory, or let yourself be slowly ground down by Albion."

Henrietta shook her head, seeking an alternative.

"We have the alliance with Germania! If we simply delay and buy time, we can get them to come and help us repel the invasion."

"That's the absolutely worst course to take of all."

He countered Henrietta's argument without even hesitating, and then stood away from the map and sat down in a nearby chair. Agnes ground her teeth and gave a glare which could have killed people at his continued impropriety, but she said nothing.

"You have to think in the long term, Princess. If you wait for Germania to come in and help defend your country, then you'll likely prevent an Albion invasion. But what will happen after that? You'll just fall under Germanian dominance, as they'll demand things from you in exchange for helping you safeguard your own country. And while I know nothing about either country, it is worse to have a country that borders you dominate you as opposed to one who does not. If Tristain is to remain independent, then you need to defend yourselves, by yourself."

Henrietta thought about what he said as she looked at the map and what he advocated. He was right about the alliance. It had been her biggest concern about marrying the Germanian Emperor, even more so than betraying Wales. Her country had to seize victory by itself.

But as she looked at the plan he proposed, she still couldn't believe she hadn't already outright rejected it. It was dangerous, foolhardy, but most importantly, it flew against every principle of justice she believed in. It was… wrong. A wrong strategy.

But Agnes, who knew far more about military affairs than she did, said nothing in response to Napoleon's words. Even though she had nearly killed him, and was still clearly hostile towards him, it was clear that she had accepted his logic. The best move to secure victory was a bold stroke of daring. And as the captain looked at the map, and then looked at Henrietta, she confirmed her thoughts. What he had proposed from a military perspective was a gamble, but it was one that had a good chance of working.

Even then, Henrietta desperately wanted to say no. She wanted to scream and rage at him at what he had proposed, and then to take her forces and defend Tarbes to the end. But even as her heart told her that was what she should do, she could see that what was sketched out on the map was probably the most intelligent course. If she wanted to save Tristain, save her entire country like was expected from her, then…

As she gave her consent to the plan, for the first time in her life, Henrietta cursed the fact that she was born as a member of the Royal Family. Not even leaving Wales and her eventual marriage to the Germanian emperor had caused her to do that.


	15. The Hanged Man: Chapter 3

"_An Army of sheep, led by a lion, is better than an army of lions, led by a sheep."_

…

…

"So, what are you exactly?"

Napoleon turned towards Agnes as they waited for proper darkness to emerge. He had been adamant in insisting on securing or destroying the Dragon's Raiment, and thus a handpicked group of 50 soldiers were selected for what was a nighttime raid over Agnes's objections. Naturally, as someone who wasn't even part of the Tristanian Army, Napoleon had no right to command anyone, and so the responsibility of the attack fell on Agnes. However, Napoleon was necessary as while he had told them where the Dragon's Raiment was, he was the only whom actually knew what it looked like. And so Agnes the commander and Napoleon the advisor were waiting at the head of a small group, on foot and on top of a small hill.

"I'm just a soldier, like you. I'm sure you knew that already."

It was a noncommittal and vague response, one that said nothing. Agnes opened her mouth as if to say nothing more, but then she closed it. The two passed the time saying nothing, with Napoleon watching the positioning of the stars for the moment to strike. Fortunately, it was a fairly cloudy night, and the two moons were fairly obscured. Napoleon wasn't even sure if the Albion army knew that the Tristanian forces had arrived and were only a few miles away.

While he looked at the stars and also unsuccessfully checked what he could see of the village for enemy soldiers, Agnes wheeled around and looked at the men that were with her. She had elected to mainly take melee soldiers and mages as opposed to the musketeers, as she didn't have enough men to conduct proper volley fire, and a pitched ranged battle was what they were seeking to avoid anyways. After thinking over things for a bit, she delivered her final orders to the group.

"According to this man here, the city of Tarbes possesses a major artifact. Our goal is to prevent Albion from obtaining it, either by taking it for ourselves or by destroying it. It is about 2 miles north from the current position we are in. We currently are unsure about where their sentries are, so we will be cautious and careful. Anyone makes an unnecessary noise, I'll take you out myself, and may Brimir curse me if I lie to you.

Move out! And we will be successful!"

Despite her confident tone and words, Agnes remained concerned about this plan. To begin with, Napoleon and his master were the only ones who actually knew what the Dragon's Raiment looked like, and her Majesty had ordered Louise that she was to stay back and not fight herself. Napoleon had pointed out the building where it was, and Agnes had seen it herself. Nevertheless, despite his assertions that they would be able to instantly tell what the Raiment was the second they saw it, the vague description still concerned her. This mission would get a lot harder if he got killed. Furthermore, the clouds and the weak moonlight meant that while it would be difficult for the enemy to detect them, it would also be harder for these soldiers to move correctly to the right location.

This Dragon's Raiment had better be worth it, she had thought to herself.

…

It had, unexpectedly gone completely smoothly, better than either Napoleon or Agnes had hoped for. It didn't take them long to see why. The Albion soldiers apparently had no idea at all that Tristanian soldiers were nearby, and while none of the men could see it, they could hear men in the distance cheering and dancing as well. Rather than immediately march on La Rochelle, the men were resting and celebrating what they viewed as a great victory, one that signified the beginning of their conquests over Tristain. It was an amazing stroke of luck. Agnes guessed that the enemy was generally in the plains north of Tarbes, while they were in the eastern part of the village itself.

As they moved, she couldn't help but notice the destruction left by the Dragon Knights of Albion. The fires had largely burned themselves out by this point. But charred corpses of helpless peasants and mangled wreckage still constituted an obstacle for her and their small group as they maneuvered through the wastes. The smell of death lingered throughout a place which was not even a battlefield, and Agnes suppressed a shudder as she nearly stepped on what appeared to be the burnt head of an old women. It made her think back to that day long ago, when she was a little girl whom woke up in a sea of fire completely alone, and she stopped and thought about her past. It was only for a short bit, and aside from Napoleon raising his eyebrows, no one even noticed her pause.

70 minutes later, a march that should have taken a mere half hour was completed. The soldiers clung to the wreckage for protection, but the building in which the Dragon's Raiment was housed in was untouched. It had somehow miraculously survived the wrath of the Dragon knights, and stood there as if it was yet another day in which it would continue its task of guarding what was inside. Furthermore, they could still hear the sounds of drinking and celebrating, and they would likely not move or fight tonight if nothing stupid occurred.

Agnes began to move, but then stopped. A soldier was passing by, and the Tristanians realized that the Albions had set up sentries after all. He walked lazily without a care in the world, not even paying attention to what was in front of it as it dragged a pike along. No doubt it was irritated with being put on guard duty while his fellow soldiers celebrated.

However, he stopped in front of the building containing the Dragon's Raiment and leaned against the wall. After pulling out a flask and taking a long draught from it, he continued to lean against the building and stared into space. Perhaps he would move soon, or perhaps he wouldn't move until he would be relieved. It didn't matter to Agnes. The longer they took, the higher the chance they would be discovered.

She signaled first to Napoleon and the other soldiers to move back, and then made another gesture to another soldier behind them. He was a line wind mage, one who was also a member of the Musketeer guards and someone whom had worked with Agnes throughout many campaigns. The two of them continued to edge forward, using the burned buildings as coverage before getting to a place which they deemed suitable.

There was now a straight line between Agnes and the guard, and she slowly lowered herself before making more gestures at the mage. She then arched and raised herself, making the position of a sprinter preparing to take off. It was a technique she had used many times before to take out opponents silently. She would move forward, and then the mage, with a burst of wind magic would propel her forward so that she could be on the guard before he could react. A quick knee to the gut, a knife slash, and the guard would be down and they could get into the building and secure the Dragon's Raiment.

The guard, with a bored expression, continued to stare at the wreckage in front of him, and thus never noticed the movement to his side. As Agnes prepared about 30 meters away, her right hand clenched a knife handle and her left hand held out three fingers. The wind mage silently began his chant.

Three fingers were raised, and then one came down to make two. The wind mage pointed his wand at Agnes as one more finger was lowered and they prepared for the attack.

"FIREBALL!"

The rest of the Tristanian soldiers whirled around, and the guard perked up at the noise. But it was too late. About 80 meters away, a range which no musket man could hope to reliably hit, Louise had appeared. To make things worse, she had chosen to cast a spell at the guard without the least bit of stealth.

And as Agnes fired forward like a rocket, one of the walls of the building containing Dragon's Raiment simply exploded. The guard was propelled forward by the blast, his face smashing into a stone pillar left by the wreckage with a sickening thud. But even as the guard was taken out, a rock also flew forward from the debris and hit Agnes in the side. The impact combined with her already great momentum and she flew into the same wreckage and landed with a loud crash.

"AGNES!"

The wind mage leapt up and dashed towards the wreckage. Meanwhile, having revealed herself, Louise dashed forward towards Napoleon and the rest of the soldiers who simply stared either at the building or at her. To make things worse, amid the noise of bodies and tumbling rock, there was one sound which was no longer heard. The sound of the Albion forces celebrating.

Louise looked down, not daring to face the crowd of men around her, especially her partner. His face simply gave off no reaction as he spoke.

"What the hell are you doing here? And you even brought that book with you?"

Louise fidgeted. He didn't sound like he was angry. It was worse than that. She thought of her older sister Cattleya, and the voice she used towards her beloved animals whenever they did something silly like eating the flowers or scratching the furniture. Both her reproaches to animals and his current reproach to her were eerily similar as she continued to stare at the ground in shame.

"B-Bonaparte…I…"

Napoleon then abruptly raised his hand as if to strike her, but one of the soldiers to his side grabbed his wrist as it descended. Napoleon and the other man simply looked at each other for a bit. Then with a huff, he ripped his hand away, and the soldiers turned their back towards the girl, ignoring her. At that moment, the wind mage came back, carrying Agnes over his shoulders.

"She's breathing, but she's out. What do we do?"

The men simply stirred and mumbled among themselves, but Napoleon seized the opportunity.

"Your captain may be no longer be able to fight, but we have a mission to complete! Get in there! We need to deal with the Dragon's Raiment!"

The soldiers were initially confused. They had no idea who this man was, who wore a strange fancy military uniform and who had not marched alongside them. But Agnes seemed to know him and let him ride alongside her. Most importantly, these were soldiers, men conditioned to obey the orders of their superiors. And as the man in the blue and white uniform yelled at them with orders they could understood and then dashed forward without waiting for them, this small group of 50 men accepted his authority.

As Louise had destroyed the wall, they dashed forward into the building, but the soldiers all stopped in awe at the Dragon's Raiment, even if they couldn't yet see what was actually inside. Only Napoleon moved forward, looking at the plane. It was a crying shame, he thought. If he moved quickly enough, he probably could fly the thing out of here right this minute with some help from the wind mage. But it would likely mean flying back to the Academy and then riding back to the battlefield, which would take at least two days which he simply didn't have under the circumstances. More importantly, while Albion gaining this knowledge would be disastrous, for the Tristanian crown to get their hands on these books would be nearly as bad. The books were to be his tools for asserting his authority, and if he couldn't use it like that, he didn't have much of a use for them. Despite the line of thinking, he made a mental apology to Giono as he turned to the crowd.

"Where's the fire mage?"

There was silence for a few seconds, which was punctuated by the fact that they could start to hear battle cries a fair distance away. Napoleon spoke up again.

"I told Agnes that we would need a fire mage in order for this operation to succeed. Do we have one?"

Silence still reigned, which caused Napoleon to throw up his hands at how things went so wrong so quickly. He had planned to have a fire mage shoot a small stream of flame into the gasoline tank, igniting the gas that was left and destroying the plane and the books. He didn't know whether the soldier had lagged behind or if Agnes just didn't bring one for whatever reason, but no w what should he do? He could have one of the soldiers stay behind and light the gasoline, but that soldier would almost certainly be killed in the resulting blast, and to have one of his first commands be to order one of them to commit suicide would be a terrible way of gaining their eventual loyalty. There had to be another way, he thought, before coming up with an idea.

He quickly dashed back through the crowd and towards Louise. She had been sitting outside the crowd looking at the Prayer Book, waiting for them to finish their mission as she attempted to retreat into a shell of self-pity. She looked up on seeing Napoleon and as she was about to ask him what he was doing here, he grabbed her hand and pulled her through the crowd of soldiers. When they reached the plane, he pointed at it.

"Blow it up."

"Huh?"

As Louise panicked, Napoleon repeated himself.

"You have a chance to redeem yourself. Blow this thing up like you did the wall."

After a short hesitation about his willingness to go through with such an act, Louise nodded.

"A-all right."

With a small flourish, Louise raised her wand, and pointed it at the plane.

"E-Explosion!"

There was an explosion, yet it was mere tips from the end of the wand, and its size was pathetic. The only real result was that now Louise had become dirty and Napoleon was even dirtier.

"Again, Louise. I know you're capable of this."

He didn't bother to even look at her this time. Once again she pointed the wand plane and cast the spell. And once again nothing but a small explosion and a bunch of soot appeared; only this time it drifted over the rest of the soldiers, causing them to start coughing. Even that noise couldn't drown the sounds of the Albion soldiers that continued to grow louder, and Louise groaned in shame.

"I-I can't do it." She cried out as she dropped her wand.

"YES YOU CAN!"

And with that yell, Napoleon seized her shoulders and stared at her again.

"What have I told you, Louise? I am your partner because I can see that you have potential. Well, this is it. You have one shot, or Albion gets their hands on this plane and your country and everything you love is doomed. This is something your family can't help you with. This is something Henrietta can't do, and even I can't do. It's up to you to wreck that plane so we can get out of here."

He opened her hand and thrust her wand into it.

"You can do this, and ONLY you can do this, Louise. Show me now, to the world what it means to be my partner! Show me the talent you have!"

She realized that it was like that morning a few months ago. On that grassy courtyard, she had known that if she failed to summon anyone, it would be the end of her. Well, now if she failed to explode the plane, it wouldn't be just the end of her. It would be the end of everyone around her as well. It all came down to this one shot, this one chance. But with her partner believing in her, she knew right then that she would succeed. It was as inevitable as the sun rising in the morning.

She raised her right hand, the wand hand in preparation. Then, without the slightest warning, the book she had been clutching with her left hand erupted with a beam of a magnificent light. Even then, with such a shocking thing that caused the soldiers to gasp and even Agnes to stir, she did nothing. Somehow, she knew that this was supposed to happen, and when the Founder's Prayer Book began to show mysterious runes, she felt no surprise. After all, there was nothing to be surprised about. She had always been capable of one thing and one thing alone. It was the reason for her failures and successes, for everything that shaped her to be the girl she was.

She was Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière. The third daughter of the Valliere family. The Zero who could never cast a single successful spell. And she was also a Void mage, a mage who used the lost and fabled element, the element that the Holy Brimir had used all those years ago to save humanity. It was the reason why she had always messed up her spells, the reason for the jeers and the mockery. But it was the reason why she summoned him all those months ago, he who berated her, mocked her, and had even attempted to hit her just now. Despite all that, he believed in her, and it was because of that that she knew she would be able to cast this spell.

She was aware that the Albion soldiers had arrived, and her ears registered the sound of clashing. But all that was in front of her was the plane, all that was behind her was Napoleon, and all that was in her was the Void magic. And as she continued to point her wand at the plane, she began to chant. It was a strange and unfamiliar chant, with words that Napoleon did not recognize even as he looked towards the clashing. He held on to his pistol, cursing himself for not bringing Derflinger along in his hurry. But as the Albion soldiers began to overwhelm the small band, she finished her chant and said a single word.

"Explosion"

In the plane, a light began to glow. It was an absolutely pure and holy light, and while it was at first just a dot, it doubled instantly. And then it doubled again, and again, growing bigger and bigger. And she realized as it enveloped the plane that she had succeeded in the task which he had appointed for her, and had in the process saved her country.

"I did it! I did it!"

She turned towards Napoleon, only to immediately notice the expression of horror on his face. And it was then that she realized that while the light had encompassed the plane, _it still wasn't stopping._ The Albion and Tristain soldiers both ended their combat as they looked upon the holy light, the light that was quickly encroaching upon them and was looking less and less holy every second.

And as Louise was swallowed up by the light that she had created, she heard a small statement behind her.

"Oh, _merde._"

…

Siesta was not a person who slept much by nature, and as she looked at her siblings, she sighed as she watched some of them softly cry as they dreamed. Her parents still hadn't returned, and she had wondered if they ever would, though she said nothing of this to her siblings. For the moment, they had continued to stay in the forest, and had managed to find some nuts and berries to keep hunger away, even if it wasn't enough to make them full.

As she looked at the ruined village, she realized that the celebrating that the Albion forces had been seem to have been abruptly stopped for some reason, but that wasn't her problem. She wondered if her family would ever have the chance to work together and repair their home, and how successful it would be as it was already late summer. Despite these thought, she realized that idling about the future would have to wait. For now, she needed to sleep.

She was about to lie down on some moss when she noticed the light. It was rapidly expanding, and while she couldn't tell, she thought that it was coming from where the Dragon's Raiment was stored. Had something happened over there? Regardless, the light kept expanding, and Siesta couldn't but wonder what had happened as it kept growing bigger and bigger until it seemed to encompass all of Tarbes. Then it stopped, and after a few seconds of staying at the same size, it abruptly vanished.

Siesta wondered if she had been dreaming, but the fact that her siblings had all woken up made it apparent that what she had seen was indeed real. They pelted her with question about what that had been, and Pierre had loudly proclaimed that it was a sign from Brimir, but Siesta simply observed that she had no idea what it was. She couldn't believe that it would indeed be a symbol from Brimir, as the strange light, however pure and magnificent it had been while expanding, had managed to reignite the flames and what was left of the village began to burn again. There was no way Brimir in his mercy would ever decide to have all of this misery inflicted upon her small community.

After getting her siblings to calm down, she slowly got them back to sleep, and she told them that their parents would see them in the morning, even if she didn't believe it herself. She couldn't help but yawn after what was needed to get them to sleep at last in this late hour, but marveled over the energy they all possessed. It was all the more apparent as she looked at the piles of books which surrounded them.

She had come back from the Dragon's Raiment carrying a load of books, and her brothers and sisters had quickly realized what she was doing and insisted on helping. She admitted that she couldn't have gotten all of them out without their help, and it truly was a miracle of Brimir that they were completely unharmed during the efforts they exerted. As she looked at the piles of books which she couldn't read, she wondered what she would do with them, as she no longer lacked a place to store them. But that didn't matter. They were the prized possessions of her family, and so she had to make sure they weren't destroyed. Besides, she thought as she lay down on the moss and closed her eyes, Napoleon would likely be extremely happy to see that she had managed to save them.


	16. The Hanged Man: Chapter 4

"_La garde meurt, elle ne se rend pas!"_

Words of the French Imperial Guard after Waterloo ("The guard dies, it does not surrender!")

...

...

"Urrggghhhhh…"

Napoleon slowly opened his eyes as he felt himself being bumped around. He didn't move for a few seconds, and then noticed that he was lying on what appeared to be a cot, with something white above him. It appeared to be cloth, and from the way he was being bumped around, he had to be in a cart. He quickly recalled the light and what his partner had done, but observed that despite being swallowed up by that pure light and apparently being knocked out by it, he felt perfectly fine, and didn't appear to be suffering from any wounds or missing body parts.

He sat up from the cot and looked around the wagon. There were a few more cots beside him, but there were all empty as the midday sun shone in on them. There was only one other person there, and he was sitting in the entrance to the wagon, his legs dangling out. Napoleon recognized him as the wind mage in their mission last night, the one whom had been carrying Agnes after she was knocked out. Holding a wineskin, he looked at Napoleon and began talking.

"Oh, you're finally up. Some of us were starting to get worried about you, huh….."

It was clear that the mage didn't know what to call him, and so Napoleon responded while also quickly thinking of an appropriate cover story. Claiming he was from a different world would not help him at this stage.

"My name's Bonaparte. Napoleon Bonaparte. I'm an artilleryman."

The mage scoffed and waved his hand.

"That's a weird name. And you're a cannon man? You guys don't do any real fighting. It's mages like us who are the cream of an army. Anyways, name's Cartier Martin. It seems like we managed to get rescued from that little girl's light show in the end, so we're all right."

While the mage had just insulted Napoleon and artillery, it was clear from his voice that it was more of a joke than anything, and so he let it slide.

"Have you been up for a while? Or were you even knocked out to begin with?"

"Nah, it looks like we all got hit by that spell, and so us and pretty much the whole Albion army ended up taking a nap. But the Princess noticed that light, and decided to go ahead and send the entire army in to find out what happened. They picked all of us up, and took the entire Albion force prisoner. Doesn't look like anyone on either side actually got hurt by whatever that little girl did anyways, and mission ended up going great. Blew up that artifact, took an entire enemy army prisoner, no one died. I'd say that goes about as well as it can get. From what I've heard, the soldiers in the camp are calling that light a holy miracle. I don't know if that's true or not, I just know it saved all of our asses, and so it's holy enough for me."

After taking in his long response, Napoleon moved off the cot and then strode towards the entrance of the wagon. He could see a dusty column of soldiers in front of him, and it was clear that the Tristanian army was on the march yet again even as they ignored the wagon and the occupants inside. He sat down besides Martin, who offered him the wineskin. Napoleon accepted, and then took a quick pull of what was a fairly cheap red wine.

"I scrounged it up from the village before the giant mess started. You aren't fighting, you should be drinking. That's the way I see it."

"It's not bad. I had figured a fancy nobleman could get something better."

Martin grinned at Napoleon's quip and playfully punched him in the shoulder.

"Who, me? Naw, I ain't no nobleman! Was the fourth son of the Duke of Walloon, and then got kicked out for chasing some tail and hanging around bars too much. Old Daddy's a real holy type, gets real passionate about Brimir and stuff, and he didn't need another son to pose a threat to his grand estate. It doesn't matter to me. I'm just a soldier, a damn good one who ended up in the Musketeers despite, I mean because of my reputation."

Martin took another swig while Napoleon continued to stare outside.

"So, where are we going at this point?"

The mercenary wiped his lips and shrugged in response.

"I had figured we'd camp out at Tarbes, but it appears her Majesty wants us to head to La Rochelle. There's a rumor that she's got some master plan to take out the entire Albion army, and it has to be done there. I don't know if it'll work. A little girl who has a grand scheme to defeat Albion? She may be a triangle mage so she's definitely smart, but that doesn't make you a warrior."

Napoleon chose not to mention that it was his master plan which dictated that, and as Martin passed the wineskin back and forth, the two continued to chat. Martin was someone who didn't need much of an opening to talk. While Napoleon listened, he talked about some of his adventures, woman, being a Musketeer, and whatever he could think about. Meanwhile, he never asked Napoleon anything about his past, something which was convenient for him.

The two continued sitting and drinking the last of the wine, and it was only when they had finished that Napoleon spotted a distinctive shock of pink hair. Louise had apparently been at the end of the column of soldiers, but now she was sitting on a horse while holding onto Agnes. The captain of the Musketeers appeared to be none the worse for wear. As Louise spotted her partner, she pointed vigorously at him and the horse eventually caught up to the wagon. Napoleon raised his hand in greeting and first spoke to Agnes.

"Are you all right? That was quite a hit you took."

Martin laughed at the idea that his Captain could get hurt, and Agnes talked back without hesitation.

"I'm fine. I apparently had some broken ribs, but her Majesty fixed that. I would reproach this girl for that, but then again we wouldn't have completed that mission without her."

Louise gave a faint blush at being praised by someone as skilled as the captain, and stammered out words of thanks.

"Well, I'll deal with that." Napoleon said. "Louise, just what the heck were you doing with that guard?"

"Aw, come on, Napoleon, don't be too harsh on-"

"She's my partner, Martin. She summoned me. Consequently, I want to know what she's doing."

Martin stared at that.

"W-wait, summoned! So you're a familiar! I never heard of a human familiar! Guess you are special, little girl!"

"I'm Louise's partner. Familiar implies servitude to the one who summoned me. I serve no one."

Martin burst out into laughter at those words.

"Man, you're a tight one, Napoleon! But hey, girl, you're from the Tristain Academy?"

Louise's stare continued to bore a hole into the ground as she mumbled an affirmative.

"Hell, that's great! I graduated a while ago, but I still have mine! Hey, Joan, come out here!"

From the back of the wagon, a grey parrot flew out and landed on Martin's shoulder. He rubbed the bird's back before extending his arm to Louise.

"Say hello, Joan!"

The parrot cocked its head at Louise her for several seconds. Silence reigned as everyone waited for it to say something, but it finally spoke just as Martin was about to encourage it again.

"Hiya, pretty girl! You're a bit too small for my tastes!"

…

Three minutes later, Agnes left the wagon, carrying the charred remains of what was once a Wind mage in a bucket. She grumbled, as she wondered if Henrietta was capable of fixing this mess. Louise and Napoleon were left alone in the wagon, watching the trees go by and the soldiers march.

"So, let's start over. What were you doing in the village to begin with?"

Louise stammered again at Napoleon's question.

"W-well, you're my partner, right? So I couldn't go and leave you."

"Didn't Henrietta herself explicitly state that you were supposed to stay behind?"

"Y-yes, but… What does it matter? You guys wouldn't have completed the mission if not for me, right? "

He had honestly expected her to state that from the beginning. Louise was not the kind of person who was just going to take an interrogation without complaint, even as her words trembled with false bravado. Napoleon turned towards her as he responded.

"You're right. You nearly killed all of us, but in the end, you managed to save us. I'm grateful for that. And I'm not going into some long speech about how a soldier unconditionally follows orders or something like that.

But I will ask about your attack. Why did you attack the guard?"

"Because he was a threat, right? So that's what you do in war, you attack enemies."

"You never thought about why we who were closer to that guard didn't attack him?"

She hesitated for a long time before mumbling a single word.

"No."

"It's as good of a time to learn it as any. Heck, it's probably a great time to learn it given that you seem to be capable of explosions which I've never seen before, Louise. You have to understand that warfare is about seeking a single moment, when you apply maximum force to seize a decisive victory. Countries are fully capable of fighting for years to merely seek that one moment. You probably grew up hearing lots of stories in battle of brave charges and glorious battles right, Louise?"

"Yeah."

"That's complete bull, or rather a tiny, tiny segment of war. It's all about preparation for that one moment – you'll have one day of war, and then 30 days of marching and maneuvering. And that's because you have to time that one day perfectly right. If you use force at precisely the wrong moment, it's almost always worse than using no force at all, Louise.

I'm not mad at you for anything you did, especially since you turned out to be vital for that mission. You'll get the hang of it as you fight more wars. But you have to be careful about when you actually choose to draw your sword, and it's something that you must be careful about. Don't go exploding things unless you'll destroy a lot of things with that explosion."

Louise sniffled at his criticism and looked ahead while Napoleon chose to lie down on the wagon floor.

"Let's forget about that for now. What the heck did you do, anyway?"

Louise jumped on that statement and wheeled on Napoleon, bringing a finger to her lips. All the same, she couldn't keep the excitement out of her as she responded.

"I can't believe it! I'm not a failure, I'm not a Zero! I'm in fact a Void mage! God gave me a power greater than the four elements! You were right from the beginning, Napoleon! I won't be someone's who just mocked anymore, someone whom like you said, can cast the biggest and best explosions of all!"

"So that light of yours was Void magic?"

"Yes. I managed to learn it from that book. Maybe it contains all the Void spells or something in it? I'll just have to learn it on my own! I can do it, I can become great, and I can laugh in Kirche and the other's faces!"

Her self-restraint cracked and she hugged Napoleon as a way of just expressing her uninhibited happiness to the world. It was only then that she noticed that he didn't seem to share in her excitement, as he wasn't smiling or laughing at her words at all.

"Is something wrong, Napoleon?"

He shrugged.

"No, not particularly. But does the entire Tristanian Army know you're a Void mage at this point?"

"The Princess seems determined to make sure this remains a secret, and I get it, it's why I indicated you needed to be quiet. But I don't want to! It would be amazing for everyone to know what I can do!"

"It's probably better that people don't know. The Princess is right."

There was something short and clipped about what he stated and he rolled over on his side. For reasons that Louise couldn't understand, he didn't seem interested in talking anymore. So the two of them remained quiet and they sat in the wagon, as they watched the sun continuing to move over the sky.

…

Bowood stood in front of a fireplace back in Albion. As his hands lit a match and put it into a pipe, he glanced over at the soldier in the doorway. His uniform was dirty and unkempt, but the message he had was too urgent for such things to matter.

"So, let me see if I have this straight. A little over twelve hours ago, you people were resting from the capture of Tarbes."

"Yes, sir."

The response was immediate, but Bowood ignored it and continued.

"During the night, the army heard an explosion and realized that a Tristanian raid was occurring. They thus rushed to intercept it, leaving only a token force behind as the rearguard."

"Yes, sir."

"They advanced towards the sound of the explosion, and then there was a massive ball of light which appeared and ended up covering the entire town."

"Yes, sir."

"You men chose to wait until morning to figure out what had transpired out of concern what had happened."

"Sir, we believed that Tristanian had sprung a trap on the soldiers who rushed. I decided to have my men wait until we could have the appropriate sunlight to see what had happened. Given the lack of light, we felt that moving then was not the best course of action."

"Very well. Then in the morning, you realized that a major Tristanian force was on the move towards the village, and you concluded that you had to retreat."

"Yes sir. We believe that they had at least 5000 men, while we had only about 500. The rest had participated in the attack. We were also unable to establish any communications with the rest of the military during that time period. I believe that they were knocked out by the spell, along with the Tristanian forces who started the raid, and then the rest of the Tristanian Army took our men prisoner."

"So then you sat back, and then you saw the Tristanian Army head off to defend La Rochelle as opposed to fortifying Tarbes? And upon seeing that information, you decided to report back to me."

"Yes sir."

Bowood stroked the left side of his mustache, and then dismissed the aide. 2500 veteran soldiers of the Revolution, gone in the blink of an eye. He couldn't help but suppress a shudder at the thought. If Tristain, through some unknown technology or magic, was capable of doing such a thing, he knew that the invasion could become that much harder. And if such an attack could be used on his ships, the results would be disastrous. His proclamation to Cromwell that foreign troops would never set their feet on Albion would become a hollow promise that would be used against him.

He shook his head and poured a glass of water from a nearby decanter. He was over thinking things, and besides, Cromwell would likely have him shot on suspicion of treason if the invasion failed this badly on account of his known monarchist leanings. He would have to try again, and not think about the consequences of failure.

Finishing the glass, he strode outside the door, and called in another man who had been waiting in front of the door of his office.

"Yes, Commander-General?"

"How long will it take until the _Lexington's_ repairs are finished?"

"Sir, the workers say it will take 2 more days."

"They have 36 hours."

"Sir?"

Bowood moved back to the desk and sat down in his chair, his arms folded and face stern.

"You heard me. They have 36 – no, make that 32 - hours to complete the repairs on the _Lexington, _or I simply will fire them all without pay and get new workers to complete the job. Then I'll move out there myself, with two of the three columns which should easily decimate the Tristanian fleet. We will take and fortify Tarbes, and then advance on La Rochelle. Dismissed."

…

Napoleon tapped his feet as he waited within the hallway. Louise kept shooting evil glares at his fidgeting, but chose to say nothing. It had been a little over an hour and the sun had set since the Army arrived in La Rochelle. Most of the soldiers quickly headed towards the barracks, and Louise had been told by Agnes to talk and meet with Henrietta about what she had done and its implications. Napoleon had attempted to take advantage of the hustle and bustle and slip off to meet Giono. The printer was still within the city, having shipped off his materials to a nearby town, and Napoleon had wished to inform him of the destruction of the books among other things. However, during the attempt, he had bumped into Martin, who had apparently already been completely healed and loudly kept chatting with him long enough for Louise to catch up with him. It was a very unhappy Louise whom had dragged him to the royal headquarters, especially when he had explained what he was doing.

"I don't get why you spend all your time with that old man. You can always talk to him later."

Napoleon didn't respond to her mumblings, and the two continued to sit there for another few minutes. Then Henrietta came out, followed by Agnes and another fat elderly man with a magnificent white mustache and a fancy military uniform. Napoleon sniffed in distaste. This person was clearly a high general, and he disliked commanders that old. They were generally hide-bound fools completely incapable of thinking of anything new, and he remembered struggling against them as a young man. Under his Empire, his best marshals, Ney and Davout, were younger men.

The old general gave a discriminating glare at Napoleon and then Louise, and then after some stares, everyone chose to move into the office. Napoleon noted with satisfaction that there was a large map of Tristain on the wall, with a pointer nearby.

Henrietta was the first to speak up as she moved towards a cavalry saber that leaned by the doorway. She picked it up with both hands, and then regally presented it to Napoleon.

"In the aftermath of the destruction of that Albion army, and the courage which you showed in leading the men, I'll be giving you your own command. The 50 men whom fought yesterday will be fighting under you."

The old general spluttered in shock at these words.

"Your Majesty, what is this? Who is this man! For someone who is wearing a different uniform to be commanding our men, what are you talking about?"

Henrietta sighed as she looked at him.

"General de Poitiers, this is another sovereign from a far away land who has volunteered his services. It is the least I can do for him, especially since he's the one who proposed a plan which can hopefully save all of Tristain."

Only Agnes and Napoleon noted how Henrietta stiffened at those last words, but then De Poitiers truly began roaring in response to those words.

"Wait, HE'S the one whom came up with that plan? Thank God, your Majesty, I had wondered what had happened to you that you would propose that!"

Napoleon simply looked at the general with his beet-red face, and spoke almost as if it was not a matter concerning him.

"Do you have objections to the plan?"

"Yes, it's dishonorable and cruel! There's no way I'll ever accept such a thing!"

"What about whether it'll work?"

"Huh?"

"I'm asking whether the plan will work. Do you believe it would?"

De Poitiers seemed to fumble about in his response.

"Well… from a military standpoint, it might work, but you're forgetting the other things, the things that really matter in war! There's a better way to defend this country!"

"Oh? And what would that be?"

"Her!"

De Poitiers pointed a stubby finger at Louise as he continued to rant.

"She created some light bomb that knocked out the Albion army with magic, right? She can do it again! And we can use her to destroy the Albion Army, and then their fleet! And we can invade and kick Cromwell up his backside! He'll never know what hit him!"

The general began cackling and rubbing his hands in glee, thinking about victory over the invaders and the honor and promotions he could get from it. However, he was broken out of his reverie with a noise.

"I refuse."

Outraged that a foreigner with a new command would dare refuse him, De Poitiers turned towards him, but then froze upon realizing that he had heard two voices. He could tell that one of them was the man in an odd military uniform with his strange accent, but it took him a bit longer to realize who the other one was.

Henrietta. It was clear that at best she was quietly angry at what he had just said, and her voice threatened to form icicles in the room.

"I will not send Louise into combat for now. She has already entered her first battle yesterday, and she will not do so again unless I say so. I will declare it right now. If Louise Valliere is to partake in this war, she will only do so under my direct orders. Not yours, General."

"Wait, but your Majesty…"

"There is nothing to discuss about this. General De Poitiers, you are dismissed. Go and collect as many soldiers as you can in preparation for the defense of La Rochelle."

With a last glower, both at Napoleon and then only for a second at Henrietta, De Poitiers stalked out of the room. Napoleon looked at Henrietta.

"I'm genuinely surprised. I thought you wouldn't say anything to what that idiot had proposed."

She gave a soft sad, smile at those words.

"There are some things I have to protect, aren't there?"

After saying that, she also moved towards the exit.

"Agnes will be staying with you to discuss the details of the defense. Louise, I'll also have to ask you to leave them alone."

Napoleon's partner looked at him, and then also moved towards Henrietta. She couldn't stop watching the brilliant saber the whole time, before she suddenly stopped.

"Wait, Napoleon, where's Derflinger?"

Silence reigned for the next few seconds before Napoleon shrugged.

"I guess I forgot him. We were in a hurry that day."

His partner's eyebrows twitched that he had so casually forgot something she had brought for him, but Henrietta interrupted.

"As I said, the soldiers you worked with last night will be under your command. You will be working with the goal of defending Tristain and winning this war, and I do believe that is your objective, so it'll work for now, even though you're primarily an advisor. I'll also be giving you some money in payment for what you have done. My thanks, Bonaparte."

She gave a final bow and left, Louise following her. Agnes and Napoleon turned towards each other, and the latter was the first to speak.

"Before we begin, I'd like to have a few details about La Rochelle figured out. I obviously know some things about the city and surrounding area for it to work, but more information is always good."

It was in the tone of a polite request, not an order, and Agnes gave a curt nod to that statement.

"That'll be fine. La Rochelle is the primary port of Tristain, and is arguably the most valuable through its important trade with the rest of Helgekinia, with Gallian wine and Albion timber being the most important imports. Ships are supposed to stop in the harbor, but there have been problems with smuggling which the Crown has been attempting to deal with. The reason it became such an important city is because of its geography. As there are mining communities in the mountains to the north and east and farms south of it, it serves as a vital place for all sorts of people to trade goods together. We'll also have to watch out for spies, as due to this trade, there's quite a few foreigners here, meaning that Albion could already have implanted people in preparation for this attack."

Agnes went on and on for quite some time talking about La Rochelle, while Napoleon only half-heartedly listened. He was still concerned about Louise, and by extension himself.

He had always been interested in dealing with the girl and helping her unlock what she was capable of like he had always done. However, he had massively underestimated just how powerful Void magic was, and thus he knew that Louise was now a potential threat to him.

The biggest problem was that she was capable of tipping the balance of power in this war. Napoleon didn't just need any war. He needed a conflict where his genius would prove indispensable. A war where Tristain was losing was an ideal example of this. However, if she could use that Explosion spell rapidly and consistently, then she could likely devastate the Albion fleet by herself, which would mean that the usual noble dunderheads like De Poitiers who ran the military would have no reason to change the status quo. Consequently, ironically after working to train her, he would now need to restrain her, in order to make himself more indispensable and for her own good. Ideally, she would decide not to fight in the war, but given her headstrong nature, that was probably unlikely. Still, she wouldn't interfere in the upcoming battle, which would be the first and as a result most important moment for him to shine.

He finally began paying attention to Agnes and the two talked strategy for most of the night. The Captain seemed to hate Napoleon's plan even more than Henrietta did, but she understood its logic better than the Princess. So they went about and formulated a way to finally defeat the imminent Albion invasion, with no Void magic and no Louise.


	17. The hanged Man: Chapter 5

"_A man does not have himself killed for a halfpence a day or for a petty distinction. You must speak to the soul in order to electrify him._

_- Napoleon Bonaparte._

_..._

_..._

Agnes couldn't help but suppress a yawn as she walked through the dim streets of La Rochelle. The sun was beginning to rise, but she and Napoleon had been working throughout the night, until she had left to get some rest. He had still been in there, puzzling over maps when she left.

She opened the door to the office, and stopped. Bonaparte was still there, in the exact same chair, and even in the same exact pose. About the only thing that seemed to have actually changed within the few hours she was sleeping were the bigger piles of paper and a cup of steaming coffee that was beside him. There was also a strange black pointed… thing on the desk as well.

"Good morning, captain. Where is General De Poitiers anyway?"

Napoleon did not even look up while giving his greeting. Agnes was frankly flabbergasted at everything in front of her.

"Do you not sleep?"

"Don't be silly. I rested for three hours on the voyage here. What would I need sleep for, with an invasion coming?"

Agnes chose to ignore the insanity of the statement he had just uttered, and sat down on the other side of his desk. She still couldn't take her eyes off of the black thing.

"What is that?"

Napoleon finally looked up, and observed what Agnes's eyes were pointing at.

"It's a hat. Found it in a shop during the night. I wore a hat just like it in my military campaigns back in Europe. It's nice to see something like it here. Anyways, De Poitiers"

The captain paused at those words. She didn't know of Europe, but Henrietta had told her. Agnes knew that the man in front of him was from a completely different world, and he was ostensibly the familiar and servant of the youngest daughter of the Valliere family. However, even though he should have been affected by the runes which were supposed to make him think of his master's priority above all, he had never shown a hint of deference towards Louise or really anyone. She decided that at this stage of the war she needed to make something clear.

"De Poitiers is with Henrietta. He seems to still be sulking over last night. But I need to ask you something incredibly important, Bonaparte. What are you fighting for?"

Napoleon stopped writing in response. He then slowly set his pen on the desk and looked directly at Agnes.

"Her Majesty trusts you for some reason. I can understand why to some degree, because it's clear you know what you're talking about with military affairs, and she really doesn't. But it's not just you who's at stake; it's her authority as well."

Agnes had worried to some degree about confronting Bonaparte like this, but the odds were too high. He needed to know everything that was at stake here.

"You may be some genius at military games, but you're still not part of the Tristanian military. I don't care that she gave you a small command, even if it has someone as useful as Martin. If it wasn't for the fact that her Majesty trusts you, De Poitiers and the General Staff would tell you to shut up if they were in a good mood, and would do worse things to you and your master if they weren't. The only reason this plan is being executed at all is because her Majesty herself is the one ordering it on your advice. Officially, it's her plan, not yours.

If the enemy wins this battle and secures their objective, we're all doomed, which means that pretty much everything is riding on you. So I'll go ahead and tell you this right now. If you mess up, or are working for ends which will hurt her Majesty, I will kill you with my own hands. I swear it on my honor."

Napoleon gave no outer reaction, and continued to look at her. Then he spoke.

"You think I'm working for Albion. You're worried that this plan of mine is an incredible trap, one which will ensure that Albion wins the war. You believe this because you know I'm not from Tristain, and thus shouldn't have a reason to care which side wins. Am I right?"

"Are you saying I'm wrong?"

"Yes. I'm not going into some long speech about how much I love Tristain or anything like that, because I frankly don't care about Tristain. I'll just observe that I have no reason to work with Albion. If you want to know why, let's just say it's revenge, among a whole slew of other problems."

Now Agnes was really confused. This man said he wasn't from this world until he was summoned, yet he possessed a grudge against Albion? It made no sense whatsoever, but Napoleon didn't give her a chance to respond.

"Either way, let us get down to other business. The artillery should be in position by tomorrow?"

"Yes, but I'm not finished. I need to know. Are you sure this plan will work?"

"No."

He noticed Agnes's shocked expression before continuing.

"Frankly, you should be more concerned if I had said 'yes'. It would have meant that there was something I had overlooked, and that's the worst thing a commander can do while he prepares. I can think of three ways in which my plan could be countered, but the biggest threat is Albion's Dragon Knights."

"You fear the Dragon Knights more than the threat of the _Lexington?_"

"Easily. The _Lexington _is a problem, but not a serious one.

He noted Agnes's stunned expression but said nothing. He finished writing something, and then got up from his seat and grabbed his greatcoat.

"I'll be heading to deal with the men. Do you have the information on the amount of men Albion is sending yet?"

"We've received final word from our spies. Albion has taken Tarbes, and is continuing to fortify the area. We'll guess that they will probably send around thirty-five thousand soldiers against Tarbes in about five days."

"What?"

Napoleon stopped at those words.

"Thirty-five thousand men? And that's not even including the amount of men needed to actually protect Tarbes, correct? And it doesn't include their ships, either?"

"That is correct."

The Emperor stood there for several minutes, tapping his fingers, in response to Agnes's words. It appeared that he was running calculations. Was he beginning to worry about how well his plan would work against that many men?

That guess was rudely proven wrong when Napoleon let out a snort of laughter. At first it was small, and then began expanding without any forewarning.

"If it's that many, then there really will not be a problem."

Agnes continued to stand there, waiting as Napoleon finished laughing at her report. Even as he finished, he still smiled at her, though it was that cruel smile that she had seen from him quite a few times now.

"This removes one of the three concerns. We will probably not be able to get more than twenty thousand over that time stretch, meaning we'll have twenty thousand soldiers against over thirty five thousand men and half of the Albion Air Fleet. This is going to be an amazing victory."

He finished putting on his coat and as Agnes began to wonder about Bonaparte's sanity, he grabbed the strange hat, left the office and walked on into a chilly morning.

…

Two hour later, Napoleon stood in front of his new command, all 50 soldiers whom were standing at attention outside. The fact that he had a command at all was a start, but there were serious concerns, both for himself and their army.

The first problems were simply the means of organization. Tristania basically possessed two armies. The first, the Royal Army, ostensibly owed their loyalty to the king. The reality is that they were a bunch of mercenaries, whose only loyalty consisted towards their next paycheck. The second was the Marquis Army, which were soldiers which the nobles collected. This group was closer to a mob, as a collection of nobles with their own separate forces and their own wishes for personal glory meant that cohesion and organization would be basically impossible. Napoleon was completely stunned upon realizing that a monarch as charismatic and as popular as Henrietta had never even thought about assembling a coterie of soldiers whose loyalty above all would be directly to her or Tristain. The soldiers whom Agnes selected were all members of the Royal Army, as it would have been too much of a political hassle to select soldiers from the Marquis Army and deal with the complaints of the noblemen whose soldiers were being removed from his command.

Mercenaries are dangerous weapons, as Napoleon well knew. They are soldiers whose only loyalty consists in creating as much war and chaos as possible, as they don't get paid during eras of peace. Furthermore, soldiers who fight for gold are arguably the worst kind of men, as they have no interest in dying during combat as they would no longer be able to enjoy their pay. Despite these serious, he preferred having them to the soldiers of the Marquis Army, as they could be reeducated without noble interference.

The second problem consisted of equipment. Agnes had selected melee soldiers for the night attack, and nearly all of the men carried halberds and swords, a combination which Napoleon found incredibly obsolete. Martin, a wind mage, and another person who was a water mage were the only mages in the lot. They both declared themselves to be non-nobles, being younger sons of the nobility whom had no real hope of inheriting their father's lands. Still, Napoleon planned to equip and train everyone else in the use of the musket, and had already talked to the quartermaster about procurement. He would also need to find a blacksmith as apparently these men knew nothing about bayonets at this point.

"Very well, soldiers. I am Captain Napoleon Bonaparte. I was introduced to you over the course of that mission a few nights ago, when you conducted yourselves with bravery in Tarbes. I expect each and every one of you to comport yourselves with that same courage and honor that I saw on that night. Glory and victory will belong to every one of you men.

In exchange, however, there are things which must now be understood. You are no longer mercenaries."

A shocked rumbling moved through the crowd as Napoleon continued.

"You are now soldiers of the Tristanian Guards. Not the Royal Army, not the Marquis, the Guards. You are a new force which answers to three people. Me, Henrietta, and Brimir. You will be paid as long as you continue to serve, and I will promise that having served long enough, Tristain will reward you with riches greater than any mercenary. But you will no longer be permitted to leave for the time being. Anyone who leaves this post or this company will be considered a deserter and will be punished as one.

This is your one and only chance right here. If you move past here, and out of the courtyard, you may go on, fight for your precious gold, and you can forget to even pretend that you possess a semblance of honor among yourselves."

"Hold on a second here!"

One man moved forward ahead of the crowd and stared at Napoleon. He was of stocky build and appeared to be in his thirties, his halberd arrogantly hoisted on his shoulder.

"Who the heck do you think you are, old man? I am Owen Foucard, the finest soldier in all of Helgekinia! You come in here with your fancy uniform and think you can boss us around and get stuck serving this army that's going to lose anyways? Shut up and know your place, old man. Go back to headquarters and let the real men fight."

There was a murmur of approval as the men decided to see what Napoleon would do. Foucard was a head taller than the new officer and of stockier build. They expected the captain to back down. Instead, Napoleon drew his cavalry saber and held it in his right hand.

"Is that a challenge, Owen? Tell me, do you think you can beat an old man?"

The mercenary drew back, both from Napoleon using his first name and from the fact that the new captain did not shrink down. He was used to overpowering his captain and letting his superiors do their thing while he did his. Agnes was the only one he had ever seriously listened to, but that was out of respect to her skill. This blowhard was clearly different.

"Fine then, you arrogant old man, I accept your challenge!"

Swinging down the halberd, Foucard roared a battle cry and charged. At first Napoleon did nothing, the saber limply hanging down by his side.

Then he switched it into his left hand, and the Gandalfr runes activated. Even as he felt the power flowing through his body, Bonaparte did not use the blade on the mercenary. Easily dodging the first halberd swing, he slammed the hilt into Foucard's chest, causing the mercenary to double over and wheeze for a second. Napoleon then quickly swung over and slammed his left elbow into his opponent's neck, with the two blows causing the mercenary to fall on his knees. Foucard quickly made to rise up, only to feel the saber's blade on the back of his neck. He had been defeated. As the sting of humiliation moved through him, he initially made a tremor of movement and then stood still. There was only one remedy for attacking a superior officer and failing at it.

"I have lost. Kill me for my dereliction."

His statement was calm now, different from the roaring, charging mercenary. But Napoleon did not move the sword.

"What are you talking about? You are clearly someone who is willing to fight, and with skill. And you are willing to accept defeat. That is courage as well."

Napoleon moved the saber, and after a moment of surprise, Foucard slowly struggled to his feet while still holding his halberd. But then Napoleon hit him across the face with the flat of the blade, leaving a welt across Foucard's cheek.

"That is the mark of one whom will serve in the 1st Guards. You are worthy of being here."

With a slow movement and with more than a hint of wonder, Foucard moved towards the ranks. Napoleon sheathed his sword and moved in front of the company.

"I will say it again. Your days of mercenaries are over. But you will obtain glory and riches for all eternity, and at the end of your lives you will look back on these days as the finest of your lives, not as degrading moments where you earned a few miserly gold coins! Anyone who believes I am wrong, or lying, he may go past me, and find another company which will be more befitting of his needs! And anyone who thinks he can challenge me, he may do so! A man foolish enough to strike again will not earn the mercy which I granted Owen!"

There was a silence which followed. Yet to the surprise of even Napoleon, not a single man moved. From the perspectives of these men, the new Captain in front of them was perhaps completely insane. All their lives they had fought for gold and money, all fearing combat like the cowards they had in the deepest recesses of their hearts feared themselves to be. But now before them stood a new officer, one whom did not just boss them around or timidly accept that they would not listen to him. This man stood before them, offering them a new direction and opportunity, promising them that they would fulfill their wildest dreams. To someone who offered them something that grandiose, they normally would not believe it and would have laughed in his face. But they knew somehow that this man was different. And so none of them moved a single step.

"Our first moment will be tonight. We will do whatever we can to harass the Albion forces. Check your equipment, get some rest. Tonight we will move out. I will see you then."

Napoleon left past the entrance and the mercenaries still did not move. It was only when he left that they began to whisper among themselves with tones of disbelief and awe. Foucard also stood there as the troops gave him not a small amount of mockery for his blustering and defeat.

…

The next three days passed quickly. Agnes's reports had proven to be correct. It appeared that since they had conceded the Tarbes area, the Albion forces were taking no chances that their invasion of La Rochelle would go wrong. They had deployed a massive amount of soldiers in the area, but as a result they couldn't wait longer. Tarbes simply wasn't large enough to get enough supply trains going to feed and equip thirty-five thousand soldiers, and thus they had moved even before they were properly organized. Apparently, the commander of the Albion forces had also forbidden them to pillage from the land as well, which also exacerbated their supply problems.

There was also the matter of the raids. Agnes, as she had continued to watch him, wondered if Bonaparte ever slept. During the day, his residency had more or less become the headquarters of the defense of Tristain, as De Poitiers was still fuming over his plan and Henrietta's refusal of his plan to use Louise. Napoleon had also taken time out of every day to go and talk to Louise and Henrietta, both of whom continued to wait within their residency. He even had helped some ordinary people escape from the city and head east through the mountains, and when Agnes had asked him why, he observed that they were his friends. And all of that was only during the day. At night he went out with the troops that were under his command and conducted raids. There was no fighting within them – the men took out sentries, burned wagons, and fled whenever any group of Albion forces arrived wherever they struck. But it was a tool of harassment, and Agnes also couldn't help but wonder how he had managed in the first place to get these mercenaries to accept doing such menial tasks.

Henrietta these days was mostly preoccupied with the Germanian situation, even if it had gone largely as Napoleon had predicted. The Germanian Emperor, the man who she was supposed to wed, had told Henrietta that until the Diet, the representation of the nobles in their country, came to a decision, they wouldn't be able to act. While he promised that Germania would strike soon, Henrietta figured that he wasn't to be trusted at this point. He would likely wait until both Albion and Tristain were exhausted, and then move in himself as a "protector".

Now as she opened the doors of the palace where her master was residing, ready to give a daily report to her Majesty as well. However, Napoleon was there as well standing across from Henrietta who was on a makeshift throne. And it was apparent that the princess was furious.

"I thought you said you didn't need Louise for this plan."

"I don't. I need Louise as a safeguard, a reserve, as a way of ensuring the removal of another way which Albion can use to counter this plan."

"The superiority of their Air Fleet, then?"

Napoleon sighed at her remark before looking down at yet another map.

"I'll be honest, Princess. After going over everything, you will not win this war without Louise."

Her eyes flashed at what Napoleon had declared.

"What? I thought you were going to destroy their Army!"

"Oh, I can do that. We'll destroy their invasion, and cause them to leave Tristain alone. But then what? The only way you can win the war is to attack Albion itself, and you're not capable of doing that unless the Air fleet is destroyed. Given the quality and quantity of their ships, Louise is the only one who can do that. Without her, even when this army is destroyed, they'll just use the Air fleet to harass your country until you can no longer resist, even if they don't invade. And not even Germania could help you against that.

I have no intention of using Louise for fighting the Albion Army itself like De Poitiers did. She will stay back. But she will be necessary as a counter to their Air Fleet. That, I swear, would be the only time I would even want her to enter the battlefield."

Henrietta trembled at his words. Once again, she was confronted between the logic of his words and the pangs in her heart.

"I'm going to wreck this country. And now you want me to send my best friend into battle. Tell me, Napoleon. Did you have to make these sacrifices again and again as a ruler?"

There was a long silence towards Henrietta's words. It was then Agnes noticed a presence behind her. Louise had snuck in, but it appeared that neither of the rulers had noticed. Napoleon gave no reaction to Louise, as he slowly began to respond to the princess in front of him.

"There was once a foolish young man who wanted to rule all of Europe and leave a legacy for himself. He was a general, but did not command anything of great value. One day, at a social event, he met a widow, whose husband had been taken through the past years of turmoil. She was older than him, and already had two children. But she was refined, and beautiful. The young man fell in love with her, true passionate love which he had never felt before. A year later, the two of them married. It was because of the influence of his wife that he was able to get his first command and begin his path of conquest.

The years passed by. The man conquered most of the world and became an Emperor, crowning his wife in front of the whole word to see. He commissioned a great painting of that moment, wanting that moment to be shown to the world for all eternity. But even as he still loved her, he was an Emperor, and thus needed an heir. But his wife could not bear him a son. So even if he wanted to be with her and loved her, the dictates of being an Emperor said otherwise. The two divorced, and he re-married with a younger man, the daughter of another sovereign. The two did have a child; a son whom it was planned would someday be the next ruler of Europe.

A ruler must sacrifice something in order to rule. We are something greater than human beings after all, and it is our duty to figure out who must sacrifice and suffer. That is what we must do."

Henrietta looked down at his words, but at that moment Louise stumbled through. She looked at the two of them for a second. Then, she moved to Henrietta and hugged her. The Princess stiffened up, and then looked at her best friend as Louise spoke.

"Your Majesty. You don't have to be alone. I will be with you, and will help you. That's why I came to this room, because I wanted to tell you I'm willing to fight. If you say that I'm needed, I will do so. If you want me to destroy all of Albion with my power, I'll do so, Princess. This is my promise."

The wand in her pocket crackled with power, and those sparks made it clear to everyone. Louise was ready to use the Void again.

Henrietta sniffled slightly, and then her face grew stern. It was the proper face of a just and fair monarch.

"Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière. You will head north, and prepare for the opening stages of the advance. May Brimir protect you, my friend."

With a last squeeze, the two parted, and then Louise left the room. Napoleon looked towards Agnes and nodded. The last obstacle had been cleared for the operation.

"It'll begin in 24 hours. Albion will have quite a surprise waiting for them."

…

Sir Johnston, the commander of the Albion Army, sighed as he rode at its head and looked up at the night sky. It had been four days since the second invasion of Tarbes had begun, and things had really not gone according to plan.

Tarbes simply wasn't capable of feeding his men, and a lot of his soldiers were going without food even as they marched. The problem was so bad that Johnston had seriously considered removing the penalty on taking food from the villagers, and he probably would do it eventually, even as his personal morals were repulsed at even thinking of such an action. Even if it was a war, they were still men. It would not do for soldiers to act in such an uncivilized or unrefined manner, and they had to take care to act like gentlemen as they prepared for battle.

This was all the more so since Tristain seemed to have thrown aside any such moral compunctions. Johnston couldn't blame them completely as they were defending their homes. But the Tristanian forces were refusing to behave like proper soldiers. Even as they hid in the defenses of La Rochelle, they sent men out at night. And not just to probe and scout, which was acceptable behavior. They attacked the camps, and they did it without the slightest bit of honor. Sentries would have their throats slit, horses and cattle would be butchered and left to rot, and supply wagons were being burned. When Albion forces came to do battle with these raiders, they fled back to the city. It was an intolerable way of making war. He had thought that as the Princess was commanding the defense, that she would avoid such barbaric tactics, but what could you expect from a monarch? They were all the same anyways.

There was also the matter with Bowood and his Air Fleet. Bowood had nominal control over the entire invasion, even as Johnston remained the head of the Army. But while Bowood had talked about how essential the Fleet was to this invasion, Johnston had scoffed. Fleets served to transport infantry and to house the Dragon Knights which could attack the ground as well. Aside from that, real glory lay in the Army, which was in the end the military branch which captured and held land. Bowood had told him to march slowly and move in conjunction with the Air Force, but Johnston would do no such thing. After the troops had landed, when they moved, he pressed them hard, as he wanted to take the city himself without their help. You couldn't trust a man like Bowood who barely hid his distaste for Reconquista anyways. He was probably a traitor who had informed the Tristanians of his plans. It would take a real believer in the cause like himself to bring victory.

There was no doubt he still remained confident, even as the problems with obtaining food continued to grow every day. He still had managed to procure a force which massively outnumbered the Tristainian men, especially since for some reason they had let their men have Tarbes. That had been something he had never understood, and he had wasted some time making defenses in preparation for an attack. But now his troops were rapidly advancing, and they would take the city of La Rochelle. The war would be over, and he would get proper glory where he served it.

He smiled as he saw a scout ride back. He had sent him to examine the Tristanian defenses, and no doubt he had good information. But his smile dropped as he saw the condition the scout was in. His horse was in a full gallop, and the scout was clearly panicked. Upon seeing Johnston, he wheeled his horse, and the two rode alongside one another.

"S-sir, sir, I-I…"

The man was clearly incapable of speaking properly, and Johnston wondered what had happened. He then noticed that the scouts' uniform had been blacked, as something was covering it. It took him some time to realize what it was.

"Is… that soot?"

Those words seemed to jolt the scout as he finally spoke.

"Sir, yes it is! They've burned La Rochelle down to the ground!"

"WHAT?"

"The Tristanian troops are moving out! Sir, I don't know the extent of the damage, or where they're going, but yes, they're burning it!"

Johnston nearly stopped the horse in shock. What the hell was the matter with Tristain? They were conducting raids, they didn't fight in the battlefield, and now they burned their cities? This was a disgusting and improper way of warfare. Still, if they didn't move now…

The commander turned towards a nearby aide, whom was also completely shocked by what he heard.

"On the double! The troops need to move faster!"

"Sir, they're already on the double."

"Then double that! I want the soldiers to charge all the away to La Rochelle!"

Johnston kicked the flanks of his horse, and he charged at the head of his Army. So what if they had burned it? If they took La Rochelle, the war was theirs! He would thank their Princess once she was successfully captured!


	18. The Hanged Man: Chapter 6

"_I used to say of him that his presence on the field made the difference of forty thousand men."_

Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington, on being asked about Napoleon

…

…

La Rochelle was burning. Great, powerful flames leaped up to hundreds of feet, creating towers of black smoke that darkened the sky. And Princess Henrietta de Tristain stood at the end of a plain and watched her city burn. As she did so, she could not help but think back to what had been proposed on that day by a madman in the village of Tarbes as he pointed at a map of La Rochelle.

"_The enemy needs the port facilities of La Rochelle. They don't need La Rochelle itself – the city itself is in fact a hindrance. A place that needs to be occupied and have soldiers guard the streets isn't going to help them._

_Therefore, you evacuate the city and burn the port facilities of La Rochelle. No, you burn all of La Rochelle just for good measure, so that the troops become disorganized."_

_Those were his words. She remembered voicing her own objections to the plan, a plan which even if she had just implemented, she believed to be horrifying. On that distant day, Napoleon had brushed aside those comments. However, just when she had been shocked silent, her nearby captain had spoken up._

"_What you've proposed is insane, but there is military merit to it. However, this doesn't solve the major problem. Even if the port is destroyed, you'll still have a large number of Albion soldiers, who will be able to get supplies from Tarbes and who will also eventually resort to pillaging the countryside. This strategy isn't going to actually destroy the Albion army, which is what has to be done to protect our country."_

_Napoleon nodded his head in response._

"_That is correct. The objective of any war above all has to be the destruction of the army. Just destroying the port facilities won't do that, however much it'll hinder the invasion. However, the destruction of La Rochelle is not the key part, though it'll be important to lure the Albion forces in as they'll need to save the city and the port. There are a series of hills and mountains north and east of La Rochelle, correct?"_

_Agnes had hesitated before responding with a "Yes."_

"_That's the key. The enemy wants La Rochelle? They can have it. Get your hands on every cannon in Albion, and set them up in the mountains of La Rochelle. While the Albion soldiers are stuck in the city, milling about in their confusion and attempting to put out the fire, open fire with the artillery. Their objective will turn into a deathtrap."_

_Agnes was now completely confused by what he had just proclaimed._

"_You're making artillery the key, not the mages and not the infantry?"_

"_Albion will have more mages and infantry than you will, as they're the invaders. You can't go one on one in those fields and expect to win. However, because they're on the offensive and will need to move quickly, you can outclass them with cannons. This is simply the best way to maximize the advantage you do have. The advantages of Tristain in this battle will be artillery and the terrain. We must use those to our utmost and prevent Albion from using their advantages in the upcoming battle."_

Henrietta was jolted out of her reverie by the sound of hoof beats. She turned around and saw that General De Poitiers had arrived behind her. He mopped his sweating brow with his right hand while clutching a military telescope with his left, and then dismounted and moved besides her. After bowing to his ruler, he spoke.

"As disgusting as it is, it looks like that cursed foreigner's plan is working."

He handed the telescope to Henrietta, whom opened it and looked down at the city of La Rochelle.

She realized something upon looking at the opposing army. The Albion commander had made plans for capturing La Rochelle and using its port facilities. However, he had never actually asked the question of how he was actually going to defeat the army defending La Rochelle. To him, the task was one and the same. Now that they possessed the city, the army which had been moving rapidly for a significant distance wanted to stop, especially since they didn't seem to realize that there even was an enemy army close by. However, they were completely confused by the fact that the Tristanian Army was not in the vicinity, and from their movements, Henrietta could see that they weren't sure of what was their next move. She also discovered that while she had no way of knowing whether Napoleon had planned for this or not, the immense smoke from the fires was also obscuring the enemy's vision, preventing them from moving rapidly forward and from noticing the presence of her army.

She snapped shut the telescope and handed it to De Poitiers. Without a word, the gesture indicated that it was time for the attack to begin. After once again bowing to her, the general mounted his horse and rode off. It was only when he left, that Henrietta knelt on one knee, with her fist on her face. She needed to pray. She would likely need to pray every day for the rest of her life in order to atone for the sin she had committed this day.

_War is inherently about sacrifice. It is about whom can sacrifice the most for victory. You send one soldier, one battalion, to their deaths so that a valuable objective may be taken and victory may be secured. There's no way to win a war without ordering the deaths of others, whether soldiers or civilians._

That was what he had told her on that day. Yet as Henrietta wondered back to his words, she couldn't help but wonder about what he had stated, and muttered something softly to herself after her prayer was finished.

"Napoleon, if you continually sacrifice small groups of people for the sake of the many or for victory, what will be left after doing it enough times?"

…

Farther down the line, Napoleon glanced at the artillery which he had taken from across the land. It had been this task more than anything which had occupied him for the past five days. He had even managed to take a few ships and completely strip them of their guns, meaning that he had managed to procure about 150 various artillery pieces as they waited about 500 yards to the north of La Rochelle. They were hardly uniform, ranging 4 pounders to even a few 42 pounders that he had taken from the ships, but their numbers were more than sufficient.

However, while the number was more than enough, Napoleon worried about the discipline of the men. He had spent all of his time launching raids and simply amassing the cannon, so he was unsure about how ready the soldiers would be in actually using their new weapons. In addition to the guns from the ships, he had also managed to get their sailors onto the battlefield. Their expertise would be important, even if firing a gun on the field and onboard ships were two very different affairs. Still, the rest of the artillery corps he remained uncertain of, even though they had shown themselves to be incredibly enthusiastic as a result of the new guns over the past few days. They even cheered him for his efforts whenever he rode by, and apparently they had begun calling him "The Little Captain."

As he looked at the formation of the Tristanian soldiers, he felt confident in a way which he had not felt on a battlefield in a long time. The high ground meant that the infantry were capable of staying both in front and below the artillery, protecting the cannons while avoiding the risk of being blown to bits by their own guns. Apparently, the Tristanian Army already understood how to use their mages, as he had no trouble with De Poitiers in proposing in how to use them. The mages were interspersed with the regular infantry. Napoleon had stated, and De Poitiers had reluctantly agreed, that their goal was not so much to attack, but to serve to counter the opposing mages whom would no doubt seek to destroy the rest of the army. Whether a bunch of nobles obsessed with their own glory would actually listen to those orders was a problem, but eventually he hoped to resolve that.

He could see De Poitiers riding in from the distance, and he maintained his ground as the general rode towards him. As the fat general approached Napoleon, it was clear that neither one was particularly restrained in concealing their contempt for the other. Napoleon was the first to speak.

"Is everything ready?"

"Yes. Where is the Void Mage?"

Napoleon couldn't hide the look of disgust on his face in response to the inquiry. He may have viewed his partner as someone whom could be used on the battlefield like De Poitiers, but she wasn't a tool. A person as powerful as her was always someone to be respected, no matter how she was used. She was worthy of his entire Old Guard back home, the cream of the Grande Armee. He had known the names and lives of every single one of them, and in return they were prepared to cross Hell itself in his name. This general either could not or did not care to inspire that loyalty or camaraderie.

"Valliere is in the back, safe with the Princess. You are – officially – the commanding officer. Anything you want to say to your soldiers?"

De Poitiers shook his head, ignoring the dripping sarcasm in Napoleon's words.  
>"They are soldiers. They will do their duty. There is nothing to say to them."<p>

"Is that so?"

De Poitiers's face once again grew beet red as he rounded on Napoleon.

"Look, you smart captain, you better show respect to your officers. You may be in the favor of Henrietta for now, but-"

"But what, _sir?"_

The two stared at each other, and De Poitiers was the one to break off. He strode towards his horse.

"I'll begin firing in two minutes. Tristain will be victorious. By the way, Bonaparte, who are those men behind you?"

De Poitiers had finally noticed them. Between Napoleon and the infantry sat three men. They did not appear to be fighting in the slightest, though they were constantly glancing up and down, first at the terrain and Bonaparte, then back down.

"Don't worry about them. They're not fighters. They'll go back to the camp right after the attack begins."

Bonaparte had turned his back to the general, and answered his question without changing his posture. His back was straight, and his hands were clasped behind his back as he looked upon the burning city. Grumbling without a word, De Poitiers mounted his horse, and he galloped off. Shortly after he left, the three men stood up, grabbing their charcoals and papers, and they also left to the rear. If anyone would have bothered to look, they would have seen a sketch of Napoleon, alone and surveying the battlefield, striking a magnificent pose on the dawn of battle.

He moved towards the loaded cannons, and it was only when he had finally moved behind one 12-pounder that a roar was heard.

"FIRE!"

…

The soldiers of the Albion Army were confused. They had been promised great spoils of war and glory for taking the city which they had been told repeatedly would end this war and liberate Tristain from the grasp of their arrogant Princess. But now as they tramped through the city which they had taken, there was no sense of honor or victory. The sea of flames seemed to laugh at their hopes and dreams of riches and glory, even as buildings collapsed and the cries of the innocent could be heard.

Nevertheless, their previous order and the inertia of the crowd caused them to move forward through the city. The Albion soldiers saw innocent civilians, those whom out of stubborn pride and petulance had refused to leave their homes, stumble out of their buildings. Rather than fleeing or ignoring the invaders as usually occurred with an invasion, they pleaded with the attacking soldiers, begging that they would save their families and homes. The narrow streets and confusion from the fire had caused a complete breakdown in the orders, meaning that such a major decision was left to the sergeants and lieutenants to decide as opposed to the senior officers. Some of them chose to help, and they broke off from the advance to search for water for themselves as well as for the innocents. Others chose to ignore the sad cries, and not a few officers, enraged by the Tristanian Army whom had dared to use such a cowardly tactic, snapped and ordered the men to find whatever glory or spoils they could in this ruined town, causing more destruction and misery among the populace. The Albion forces had degenerated from an army to a gigantic mob, unable to receive orders from their high commanders and confused as towards what their next objectives should be.

It was then the bombing began. Bonaparte himself had been out there helping maneuvering and aiming the cannon, and it was never known whether he had aimed one particular cannon for its target. A large 24 pounder fired and its solid shot flew forward, crashing into the steeple of a temple of Brimir. There was a great and terrible groan from the stone building, and the column toppled over and crashed into the street. That one shot was followed by many, as artillery shells zoomed across the city, accompanied by explosions and the sounds of screaming. Buildings toppled, destroying unit cohesion even further as they became separated by the crash of stone walls.

Towards the front of the mob, Johnston's horse panicked from the rain of fire, and he struggled to keep it under control. As he did so, the same scout whom had reported the news of the city burning rode back. Whether out of fury or fear, Johnston was incapable of preventing his voice from rising to a scream.

"What in Brimir's name is going on? Where are the cannons firing from?"

"Sir, Tristanian forces have holed up north of the city. They're on high ground, and they have a huge amount of cannons. I had no idea a country had so many field pieces!"

Johnston gave a small quiver, which was absolutely not fear for a general as splendid as he was. He vaguely considered retreating, but realized that it was impossible. The men only knew how to go forward at this point anyways. And if he DID retreat, Bowood would likely use it to gain power for himself. That absolutely could not be allowed to happen.

"Get moving forward! I want about 5000 troops diverted to stopping the fires and saving the port! The rest must move forward!"

The scout saluted, and wheeled his horse around. He galloped forward about thirty yards, waving the sword he had drawn and indicating that the army was to move forward.

Then there was an explosion, and he disappeared. Johnston felt something fly into his lap, and with great trepidation, he looked down. It was… a heart? A liver? He didn't know. It was once part of a young scout, with soot on his shoulders and atop a fine horse. The animal had been miraculously unharmed, and it seemed to stop and trot around, wondering what had occurred to its rider. Johnston couldn't help but observe that the scout's legs were still on the saddle.

"Ah…ah… AHHHHHHHHHHH!"

With a loud and panicked scream, Johnston wheeled around. He was no longer thinking of glory or promotion or stopping Bowood. Now, all he wanted to do was to live. To live and to not fight and to escape to Albion. That was what now mattered in his heart, and so he began to ride straight to Tarbes. The safety of the rest of the army was now of no importance to the commander, as he abandoned even his nearby aides.

The Albion soldiers saw their commander flee, but even as they wondered whether to go with him, their lieutenants hit them with the flat of their swords and ordered an advance. Even the aides, long fed up with Johnston's arrogance and political bickering, now ignored their direct superior and also distributed orders for an attack, though with limited effectiveness. Nevertheless, the soldiers obeyed. They moved towards the artillery that took their limbs and ended their lives, wading through the sea of fire to reach their new objective which their officers had prescribed for them. Johnston's orders to save the port, the main reason why the Albion forces had come to take La Rochelle in the first place, became completely ignored. Yet despite the confusion, these soldiers were fortunate. They did not have very far to move.

The first group of Albion soldiers finally moved forward out of the city and onto a grassy heavily sloped plain, only to be confused by the sight of the guns in front of them. While the cannon had at first been spread out, Napoleon had gradually massed them together, directing them to fire at specific locations within La Rochelle rather than just aimlessly lobbing shells into the city. The result was that specific buildings and roads had been destroyed by cannon fire, rendering them all but impossible to pass by the soldiers. While some earth mages managed to clear a path, there were too few of them to make it practical for the entire army, and so the soldiers were gradually being funneled into fewer and fewer roads to maneuver in.

However, the minute the Albion soldiers saw the cannons, the artillery stopped. An eerie calm began to fill through what was clearly the new battlefield, only interrupted by the continual tramping of Albion soldiers as they arrived onto the plain. But even as the weary and hungry men saw the Tristanian infantry and the artillery they were protecting, they resolved to fight. The soldiers were now angry men, infuriated with the Tristainian refusal to stand and fight, with their reliance on unmanly weapons such as cannons, and their hearts were also filled with rage towards an enemy whom would commit an action as savage as the burning of their cities. And so without even thinking of the consequences, pikes and muskets were raised, and the soldiers charged.

…

As Martin looked out on the giant horde moving forward, he glanced at the other water mage of his company who was with him. The two were at the back, waiting for the moment to strike when the enemy mages appeared.

When he thought about it, it was clear that things really had charged ever since Napoleon had appeared. Martin was no coward. He may have no longer been a noble, but he still retained the sense of duty and courage which was ingrained in every noble boy from the moment he was born. He normally would have utterly chafed that a mage like himself should ever be told to wait at the back. But under Napoleon he did, and without complaint.

It wasn't just because of his captain's martial prowess. If he was capable of defeating Foucard in single combat with no difficulty, then he could also defeat Martin. Foucard was without a doubt the strongest man in the company. He loved fighting, and was always either in brawls or training himself to order to become better at brawls. He had been placed in the front ranks like a soldier of his caliber deserved, waiting for the Albion forces to clash. However, the mere fact that he was waiting would have been amazing to anyone who knew him beforehand, but not to one who had seen their company in the past few days. Every soldier knew that their new captain would sternly punish any who broke their formation and disregarded his orders.

Yet although they never slept as they participated in one nighttime raid after another, and even as they grumbled about the stern discipline he exacted, Napoleon had won their respect. He was stern, yet fair. And he rewarded them well for their raids, and had also succeeded in giving and keeping his promise of regular wages as opposed to the intermittent work of a mercenary. Napoleon had proven himself worthy of respect by every man in the company, and thus they all knew that they would do their duty on the battlefield. These 50 men fought not primarily for Tristain, and not for gold or riches. They fought to show that they were worthy to be his soldiers.

Meanwhile, the enemy army continued to move forward. They had been 500 yards away initially. Now there were 475 yards between them. Then 450. And yet the guns remained silent, and while the Tristanian soldiers remained silent, the Albion forces gave off a massive war cry as they charged in their frenzy.

However, even as they did so, they began to slow down as they reached the 400 yard mark, as exhaustion and hunger were clearly taking their toll. They continued to stumble, reaching a distance of 350 yards, and finally 300. It was at that exact moment that the cry was heard across the line.

"FIRE!"

Albion may have developed new long-range cannon since the downfall of the monarchy, but they were hardly the only country capable of developing new ways to destroy their enemies. Tristain was perfectly capable of advancing by itself, even without the aid of Napoleon. For while Albion forces had learned to produce superior cannons compared to Tristain, Tristain had discovered a new method of using cannons on the battlefield.

It was the first time in the history of Helgekinia that canister shot was fired. As opposed to normal solid cannon balls, canister shot consisted of a large number of smaller iron balls, stuffed into a small canister which was fired from the cannon. The canister split open upon firing, and thus the iron balls were scattered across the field, decimating infantry and cavalry alike. Cannons which were designed to destroy stationary walls and buildings were in effect transformed into gigantic shotguns.

The newness of the Tristanian invention meant that only the 24 pounders and larger guns were capable of firing the new rounds, meaning that only slightly more than half the guns fired at once. Nevertheless, the result was devastating. At the close range that the guns had been fired at, the Albion army was attacked by literally thousands of small shrapnel and balls, some of which penetrated through one soldier and into another. In the space of a few seconds, thousands of Albion soldiers were wiped out in nearly one blast.

The Albion soldiers wavered, and it was clear that the surviving men were badly shaken by the blast. But while a few men cried out in horror and fled, the majority of them realized at that point that there was nowhere to retreat to. To go back to the city would simply invite the artillery to bombard them again, and then they likely broken and hounded by the Tristanian forces all the way to Tarbes. Now armed with the courage of desperation, they continued to charge.

It was the correct move. Given how new the weapon was and the relative indiscipline of Tristain's artillery corps, it would take them approximately somewhat over 2 minutes to prepare another round of canister shot, which would be enough time for the Albion soldiers to cover the remaining 300 yards. So they moved forward, reaching 250 yards, and then 200. They would have to deal with the infantry guarding the cannon, but that would be no concern. Even as the enemy muskets assembled into position as they reached the 100 yard mark, they were still ready to do battle.

And so, at the 50 yard mark, the Albion soldiers continued to charge, and the Tristanian matchlock guns opened up a devastating volley.

Martin couldn't help but suppress a feeling of admiration for the Albion forces at this stage. They had marched quite a distance at a rapid pace and had been devastated by small arms and artillery, but they still continued. Some of the enemy musket men had stopped and fired their guns, but the rest of the men charged forward. With a great noise of crashing men and weapons, the two sides began a great melee duel to the death

It was then that Martin noticed it. To the wind mage's right, Tristanian soldiers were flung to the air as spikes of earth rose up from the ground and impaled them. It was clear that an earth mage was nearby, attempting to use his magic to force a breakthrough. He pointed at his water mage companion, indicating the problem. The two already knew how to take care of it.

The water mage cast a hover spell, thus lifting himself up a few feet off the ground. While hover was a useful and basic spell, it was normally completely useless in combat, as a mage could not use it in conjunction with other spells. However, Martin had a way of getting around this limitation to a degree.

The water mage orientated himself towards the earth mage, and Martin pointed his wand at the water mage and cast the spell he was the most familiar with, Speed. It was the same spell he had used on Agnes on the night they had destroyed the Dragon's Raiment. Instantly the water mage was rocketed towards the enemy earth mage, colliding into him as they both rolled along in the dirt. Martin looked towards the rest of the line. There was nothing more he could do for his friend. As he was a triangle class mage, he should be fine.

But then there was another blast to his left, one that he could tell was wind. This time, it was up to him. He could spot the enemy wind mage from a distance, a young man with blond hair. Casting Speed upon himself, he hurtled through the ranks, throwing aside both Tristanian and Albion soldiers alike. He did not stop until he crashed into the wind mage and the two were entangled. Martin used another spell to sharpen the wand he carried so that it was like a knife, and then attempted to plunge it in the mage's back.

But the enemy mage had quickly cast a shield to defend himself. He thrust his own wand forward at Martin, whom desperately parried. As he did so, he realized that the enemy was casting his own spell in order to crush him.

"Soll la Windy!"

"Speed!"

Martin quickly cast the spell on himself at the same that the enemy mage finished his chant. He moved backward a short distance, managing to dodge the twin blades of wind that had slammed into where he was. The nature and power of the spell caused him to realize that he had gotten into trouble. He was dealing with a triangle class wind mage, while he was only a line. Despite that, Martin didn't hesitate. His opponent was not the first triangle class he had faced, and he had won before.

Once again using Speed, Martin charged forward, his wand in his left hand. The enemy mage had a bored look on his face, as he prepared for another spell which would destroy the line mage. However, right outside the range at which a wand could thrust, Martin's right hand grabbed "something" on his back.

The enemy mage had good combat instincts, but even then his leap backward only managed to avoid an instantly fatal blow as a longsword slashed through his chest. The sword had always been on Martin's back. However, he used wind magic to keep it invisible, so that enemies would be struck before they realized he carried two weapons. However, it was not capable of staying invisible while being wielded, which had caused the enemy mage to realize the nature of Martin's attack and leap backwards at the last minute. The attack still remained good enough. The triangle mage stumbled backward, blood gashing from his chest, and fled using his wind magic. Proud of his victory, Martin gave a howl before moving back behind the lines.

As he did so, he realized that the water mage had already returned from his duel. He was washing blood off of his hands and gave Martin a quick grin as the two acknowledged their triumphs. They had observed it during their fight that the Albion lines were beginning to break. Without sufficient mages to break through, it had turned into a straight melee battle, and the weariness of the Albion troops combined with the fact that they were attacking a fortified position spelled inevitable doom. Soon, victory would belong to Tristain, and they could leisurely pick off the remaining invaders.

But then suddenly there was a cheer from the Albion forces, and the two mages realized something had happened. They looked across the battlefield, and could not see any real change that would merit such a roar of happiness. But then they looked up at a darkening sky, and groaned at what they saw.

The _Lexington_ had arrived, with over half of the Albion Air Fleet. And as the two mages watched, the famous Dragon Knights poured out and began their attack.


	19. The Hanged Man: Chapter 7

"_Kill Them All. The Lord knows whose are his."_

…

…

It was a disaster.

Bowood was standing on the deck of the _Lexington_, watching the battlefield from a great distance. Upon seeing the fleet, the Albion Army below had begun to rally, and the battle once again devolved into another chaotic duel. But Bowood could tell that the temporary boost in morale wouldn't be enough for the ground forces to ensure victory by themselves. He currently had no idea where Johnston was, and assumed that he had been killed in the flames. Without their commander, the army was just pushing forward towards the center, and while they were actually beginning to drive the Tristain pikes back, both of their flanks were dangerously open. Were it not for the presence of his fleet, the Tristanian Army would likely attack their weak sides and destroy what was left of the Albion forces.

Bowood saw a few of the enemy cannons being maneuvered so that they were pointing at his fleet of over 100 ships, but he knew even before they fired that it was useless. Even as the cannons were aimed at a far steeper angle from before, they simply lacked the range to hit the ships up in the air. Without moving in the slightest he watched as they rose up in the air, some even reaching the height of the _Lexington_, but all came crashing down without threatening the safety of his ship in the slightest.

Yet the fact was that the same was true for Bowood. The _Lexington_'s cannons, as well as those for all Helgekinian ships, were designed to attack enemy ships and clear the skies for infantry to land and take territory. They were not designed to destroy ground targets. They could fire and eventually gravity would cause them to land on the ground and explode, but there simply was no way to actually adjust the cannons up or down to a sufficient degree so that they could be aimed at the ground. Furthermore, it was difficult for a captain to actually see where the fired cannons had landed because of how high up the ships were for their own protection. This meant that adjusting the ship itself to hit the enemy ground targets was highly impractical. At the range that the ships were at, they were just as likely to hit their own forces as those of the enemy. Given the precarious state of the Albion forces, one wrong placed shot and explosion could cause them to retreat and collapse.

Instead, the job of attacking ground targets fell to the Dragon Knights. In essence, the _Lexington_ and most of the Albion ships were turned into small aircraft carriers, housing the famed winged beasts whose job was to attack the ground forces. Bowood raised his hands and watched as they were mounted. Across the Albion fleet, whistles were blown by junior officers, the official signal for every ship to launch the knights for their attack. As he watched the dragons fly off and prepare to attack the ground forces, Bowood couldn't help but chuckle at his situation. He was still the official head of all Albion forces, and was pacing back and forth across the bow of the greatest ship in all of Helgekinia. But now he was too far away from the battlefield to direct either the ground troops or the knights, and thus could do nothing but wait. Either the dragon knights would prove themselves capable of taking out the artillery and preventing a flanking attack long enough for the Albion center to overwhelm the Tristanian center or they would fail. And if they failed, there would be no second chances. The Albion army would almost certainly be destroyed, and Cromwell would have him executed for a disaster of this magnitude.

With no one watching him, he pulled out a flask and took a long drain of gin. He knew he would need it.

…

As he stood near the battlefield with a horse behind him, Napoleon thought back to the days of his youth, when his Corsican father told fascinating tales of brave knights slaying fierce dragons and rescuing princesses. Like every little boy, he had dreamed of becoming a shining and heroic knight and had played games with his fellow childhood friends where they reenacted such fantasies. Now, in a completely different world, he saw dragons ride out for the first time in his life, with the knights this time riding atop of them like cavalry as opposed to battling them. As they left their great flying ships, their wings beating in the dark sky, he thought of the irony that a childhood dream was in a sense coming true.

The dragons with a great roar moved through the sky and began their descent. They knew their objectives which they had received from Bowood. Above all, they were to attempt to neutralize the enemy artillery and harass the flanks with their flames and talons. The riders of the dragons rarely carried weapons themselves due to the difficulties of controlling the great beasts and the incredible speeds which they could fly at. These soldiers were the last of the three concerns Napoleon had had while devising his plan, and from the moment he knew how many soldiers Albion had landed at Tarbes, it was the only one he had been seriously concerned about.

The first potential problem he had observed was that Albion could have refused battle. La Rochelle was the biggest port in Tristain, but it was not the only one. The country possessed two other port cities which formed a connection between itself and Albion. Even if they were far smaller and incapable of supporting an army as large, Albion could have always launched an all-out assault at all three ports, and they would have been able to get the most value out of the their material advantage. However, the Albion command, likely obsessed with gaining the honor of capturing the second most important city in Tristain, had completely lost sight of their general goal of winning the war and had fanatically devoted itself to nothing more than taking La Rochelle. It was a serious blunder, one which Napoleon had seen from others and had committed himself in Europe regarding the city of Moscow. One must always focus on destroying the enemy army as opposed to taking useless ground.

The second problem was similar. If Albion had refused to invade at all, but had rather focused on using their ships to pillage and raid the countryside, there would have been no way he could have attained the specific victory he sought. The only realistic solution then would have been to deploy the entire Tristanian navy as a means of forcing the Albion navy to do battle, and then to use Louise's Explosion to destroy their fleet. But that approach would have meant all the glory would go to his partner and not to him, and thus would be completely valueless to his goals.

The third once again came down to their superior air force, only this time there was the concern of how they would use it in the battlefield. As the ships were not capable of severely hurting ground armies in and of themselves that meant that it came down to the Dragon Knights and Tristain's ability to counter them. However, it was not directly his problem. While Napoleon had read about the Dragon Knights and some of their capabilities, he had never directly seen them before on the battlefield, meaning that his ability to counter them would remain limited. Ultimately, while he hated to admit it, this would be something which would be up to De Poitiers. The commanding general was an unimaginative and boorish man, but Napoleon knew from talking with Agnes and his fellow soldiers to understand that he was if nothing else a mediocre general. That man could deal with the dragons for now. And Napoleon would watch, learn, and improve on all of his methods.

In the meantime, he mounted his horse. He didn't know whether De Poitiers would prove fully capable of countering the dragons, but it was best to make sure. Napoleon would need to get Louise. The situation was highly fragile. Wasting time in the future that would be needed to get her would possibly be something which he wouldn't be able to afford.

Meanwhile as Napoleon rode off to deal with his partner, General De Poitiers stood watching the battlefield, taking care to not be anywhere near the captain who was becoming a rival. As he stroked his walrus mustache, he looked upon the flying beasts that approached. He had already begun rearranging the formation the minute he had spotted the _Lexington, _and by now it was basically complete. The melee infantry and mages had slowly and steadily retreated while they continued to maintain good order and fought their enemy counterparts. However, the musket men were ordered to move back a great distance, and now they were accompanying the cannons.

Dragons were vicious beasts. They were capable of sustaining a flying rate of 60 mph, faster than any horse, and their talons and flame made them more dangerous than any weapons a cavalryman could wield. But they were not without their weaknesses. The first problem was the short range of the flame attack, as they were barely capable of reaching ten yards. It was obvious that was well within the range of a musket man, especially with a target as large as a dragon. Furthermore, while the speed of the winged beasts greatly helped with that problem, De Poitiers knew that they possessed another weakness which was even more dangerous. The biggest problem with using dragons was in fact a side effect of their greatest advantage over manticore and griffin mounts, their flame attack. While the stream of fire was without a doubt incredibly dangerous, the fact was that a dragon that was breathing out flames was not capable of breathing in air at the same time. The result was that after any flame attack, a flame dragon would massively slow down and inexperienced ones would even completely stop as they sucked in the massive amounts of oxygen necessary to keep such large beasts in flight. In fact, a tired dragon if forced to breathe fire out for too long would in fact land for a short bit and attempt to rest in order to regain its breath. It was at that moment when flame dragons were at their greatest vulnerability. In order to take advantage, the musket men were spread across the cannons, preventing them from being bunched and taking casualties from the flames. They would fire their guns after the dragons finished their attack, and not a second before.

Despite that advantage, he couldn't help but worry about the fact that said strategy required taking the fire blast first. He looked at the cannons and grumbled about the lack of earthen works that should have surrounded them to protect them from dragon fire. While he had attempted to get a few earth mages to do such a thing, that new Captain had completely lost it when he realized what De Poitiers was doing. He had ranted on how cannons were instruments which should never lose their mobility so they could be moved to inflict maximum damage, something which was utterly ridiculous to the general. As far as De Poitiers was concerned, you weren't supposed to move cannons during a battle. The proper method of fighting was to have them at the back, protected, and make them support the infantry. Some of the cannons were hitched to horses and were prepared to move, but this wouldn't protect them against dragons. Either way, he thought to himself as their roars grew steadily louder, it was too later to worry about such things now.

He pulled out his telescope and looked at the first dragon which had flown onto the battlefield. It was truly a magnificent animal, 15 feet long and with red scales covering its entire body. The Tristanian soldiers looked at it, pointing their muskets upwards. While a few less disciplined soldiers fired prematurely, it was a pointless attack on their part. Moving at a great speed, the dragon moved forward and crashed directly onto one of the cannons. As some of the soldiers fled, the creature grasped an artillery man in its talons, immediately impaling and ending its life. Then its rider, his face covered by a mask which protected him from the elements from flying at such high altitudes, pulled its reins. With a great roar, the dragon spit out a stream of fire, causing the soldiers to run and destroying the cannon in the process. After several seconds, the stream stopped, and the dragon paused for a moment, while a Tristanian captain nearby raised his sword and gave a yell.

"Open fire!"

A nearby volley of musket balls penetrated the dragon, causing it to flail about. While it remained alive, the rider, whom did not wear any armor in order to make flying easier for its mount, toppled off the dragon as it was riddled with bullet holes. They were normally the main targets for the muskets. Dragons would not fight without a rider, and they never accepted anyone else as their masters. Normally after battles, dragons that lost their riders would end up killed by their own side, as they were no longer useful in combat and were expensive to maintain. This one proved no different. With a howl of rage and grief, it lifted its master onto its back and lifted off, normally to the ship it had left, but sometimes to a random destination.

But even as those soldiers cheered this one victory, more dragons appeared throughout the lines. Some fell to musket fire, but as the muskets needed time to reload, the following beasts began to wreck havoc on the men and some of the artillery. The skirmish was turning into a debacle and De Poitiers sent out orders to withdraw some of the battle mages and have them enter the battlefield. It was incredibly risky as the center would be weakened even further, but now he didn't believe he had a choice.

"The blasted Void mage better start moving soon."

…

While both Napoleon and De Poitiers had been close to the front lines though at different locations, Henrietta had moved towards the rear, farther away from the battlefield. She was accompanied with a small bodyguard that included Agnes, and Louise was also right next to her. The Princess had instructed her few soldiers to guard her friend's life with the care that they would take with her own. And as the monarch looked out on the battlefield, she couldn't help but wonder. She was confident that they would win because of the great sacrifices she had made, but what if they didn't? What would happen to the throne? Henrietta knew that given the dark times she lived in, she would likely need to name an heir should the worst arise. And as she had no blood relations aside from her infirm mother, her best friend, a scion of the proud and powerful Valliere family, was likely the best option. The fact that Louise was a Void Mage was something else to take into consideration.

She saw Napoleon ride up before she heard the horses, and grew a little paler. Napoleon and De Poitiers were directing the battlefield together. It was an arrangement which she knew was hardly the most efficient setup, but it was the most effective way of letting a man with the skill that Napoleon possessed direct while presenting a route to avoid the wrath of the nobility to some degree. As Napoleon had all the troops at his disposal, there was only one reason why he would need to ride all the way back here. As he dismounted, the two glanced at each other in acknowledgment, but did not say a word as the Emperor moved towards his partner. Henrietta then realized that during the entire time she had been looking out on the battlefield, Louise had not said a single word.

Napoleon knelt so that he was at his partner's height, and then put his hands on her thin shoulders. The girl was looking down on the ground as he did so.

"Louise, we need you. Are you ready?"

It was all he said. Everyone present knew what Napoleon was asking of her. She was to use her Void magic to destroy the Albion fleet, the biggest immediate threat to her country's safety. She would protect her country and become the hero, the savior she had always wanted to be. And Napoleon would seize victory for himself. It was the perfect moment, when the day would be saved and glory earned.

"No."

"Huh?"

Napoleon's surprise at the words that came out of Louise mouth led to the confused response. His partner was trembling, but in response to what she said, an outburst came forth as Louise's voice rose up to a shrill scream.

"No no no no no no no no! I can't do it! I'm going out there to kill or be killed! To take lives, and fight? To save this country, to save everyone? How can I be expected to do such a thing? I can't, I can't, I can't do it!"

The outburst ended and Louise dropped to the ground, hugging her knees. It almost seemed that she want to ignore everything and just cry in despair. But as she trembled and continued to hold back her tears, Napoleon decided that he really wanted to hit himself.

He was an idiot. He had forgotten that his partner, even as powerful as she was, was still just a young girl who had never fought in her life. A young girl who had been told to sit at the back of a battlefield, and therefore had plenty of time to think about the effect her spell would have. Even if it was as non-lethal as it had been at Tarbes, Explosion would destroy the _Lexington_ and the rest of the ships, and they would crash or possibly disintegrate like the plane had. Even if Louise wouldn't directly cause their deaths, the resulting chaos would lead to the same result, and the battle would end with the blood of hundreds, maybe thousands of people on her hands. She also had the time to wonder about how she would perform on the battlefield, and how she would react in the face of fear. And so here was his partner, terrified to enter the battlefield and likely end lives, and at the same time filled with self-hatred for her fear. And here he was, having completely failed to take this into account. Even if he did forcibly drag her onto the battlefield, there would be no way she could cast the spell properly. He may be someone who still didn't fundamentally understand magic, but anyone could see that given her emotional state, she likely wouldn't be capable of casting any spells correctly, let alone a magic as powerful as Void.

So he said the only thing that was appropriate.

"That is what I expect from my master."

"What?"

The words were completely unexpected from Louise's viewpoint. He had said something insulting, derogatory, as if he expected her to be a coward. But it almost sounded like he was proud of her. And for the first time since he had been summoned, he had used THAT word to refer to her.

"A warrior who is not afraid, who does not think about every life he claims, is not worthy of serving within my army. That man is the dullest of simpletons, not even fit of the lowest of tasks. Only through thinking about those lives he has taken can he advance on. By acknowledging the lives he has taken, he gains the will to press on, to make sure that their deaths were not for nothing.

You will take lives, Louise. There is no denying that, and you must never forget that for a single second. But you must move on, ready to do everything what is necessary for the country. Take your fear, and put it into your spell when you destroy the Albion forces.

So tell me, my master. Are you ready?"

Louise was still trembling, but she now looked directly at Napoleon, and he knew he had done the right thing. To berate her would have made her crawl further into her shell of self-pity, and to console her would have been the worst course of all. Given the demands he had consistently made from her and the fact that he had explicitly stated that an Emperor does not show mercy to his allies, Louise would have completely panicked if he had shown pity towards her. She was still in an emotionally precarious state, and Napoleon did not know whether her spell would work. But there was no time.

There were no further words between them, as Louise climbed on Napoleon's horse, her hands around him to make sure she didn't fall off. And so the two rode, charging into the battlefield to ostensibly save the day.

…

As the two continued to ride, Napoleon could see that the situation really was growing worse and worse. He passed through burning cannons and men as he attempted to find De Poitiers, and observed that one of the 36 pounders had been spiked and made useless. As Napoleon had taken most of the larger guns from Tristanian ships, the fact that they were being destroyed was a serious concern. To top things off, he still didn't know if Louise's spell would actually succeed. Under the worst case scenario, he would have to enter combat himself. He didn't know how well he would do with the Gandalfr runes, but judging from how easily he defeated someone as skilled as Foucard, he could probably be enough of a force to turn the tide in the center. But even that scenario would be potentially problematic, as he needed to earn credit as a leader, not a fighter.

As he continued to ride on, he moved past the wounded, but then abruptly stopped. Despite the quizzical stare from his partner, he dismounted, and moved towards one of the men being bandaged.

"Martin. Are you all right?"

The line wind mage gave a chuckle on seeing his superior officers and hearing his words.

"You know, Agnes never said anything like that to a wound this small. I just had my chest burned by an enemy fire mage. Not a big deal. I'm just angry at myself for losing."

He gave a chuckle, but then grunted in pain. Underneath the bandages, Napoleon could barely see that his skin had been so badly burned that it was partially blackened. While it was horrifying to see, he couldn't afford to wait too much longer. After giving a salute and asking if the medical supplies were sufficient (they were), he mounted the horse and rode for a bit before speaking to the girl behind him.

"We're going to get a bit closer so you can strike with your spell. Okay?"

He looked at his partner. It was clear that she was still afraid, but within that fear laid determination. It was the combination which made true courage, which any true soldier should possess.

But even as he kicked the flanks of his horse, an event occurred. At the moment when Tristanian forces were being pushed back and their cannons destroyed by the Dragon Knights, what would be known as the Miracle of La Rochelle happened.

…

Summer was normally a dry time in Helgekinia, which resulted in weather that was highly suitable for combat. But the clouds had been growing darker for some time during the battle, and now it almost instantly turned into a downpour. Upon this battlefield, a thunderstorm had emerged.

At first, Napoleon became seriously worried, as he looked around for men whom could protect the fuses of the artillery and get them out of areas that would soon turn into mud. But then he realized how much he still had to learn of combat within this world.

As the dragons' flame was something which came from within their bodies and was oil-based, the rain actually did not affect their attack all that much. But they were creatures of fire, and always panicked when confronted with rain, especially a torrent of this degree. Only the very best riders were capable of controlling a dragon in this weather, while the majority of them ended their attacks on the cannons and flanks and instinctively sought to fly back to their ships for protection.

But even as the dragons sought to get on their ships, the great flying boats were turning around. The Albion Air Fleet, even from a distance, was clearly seeking to retreat. Long years of experience meant that they knew that lightning was something which always seeks to strike higher places first. The ships were still below the clouds and thus weren't in the greatest zone of danger, but it was risky enough. Forgetting the battlefield, they sought to flee and avoid the massive danger.

But it was too late. For there was a great flash, and one bolt of lightning struck the _Lexington_, and tore through the gigantic ship like it had been made of paper. And the immense heat from the strike caused its powder magazines to ignite.

The explosion was immense. Its shockwaves caused some of the nearby ships to flip and ripped them apart, causing sailors to plunge out of the sky and to fall onto the hard ground. But the mightiest ship in Helgekinia, with the main commander of the Albion forces on board, had turned into dust. Only the gigantic pillars of smoke and the debris flying through the air gave evidence that it had ever existed.

And as the Albion air and ground forces watched the pride of their military dissolve into nothing, their hearts shattered. To them, it was a sign. A sign that they had angered Brimir, whom had destroyed their great ship with a bolt of lightning like it was nothing. And now the exhaustion of constant marching, of no food, of the disorganization, hit the Army like a stack of bricks. With a great wail of despair, they no longer were a fighting force, but instead became a giant rabble consumed with fear, seeking a way to escape and live. Some were so terrified that they could even think to move from where they were and lay there waiting for death. It was speedily granted to them, for the Tristanian army gave a joyous cry at what had happened, and charged at the Albion army, granting them no quarter at this stage of the battle.

As Louise and Napoleon watched the explosion and impending rout, Louise had dropped to her knees. She had always been someone who worshipped and venerated Brimir, and in acknowledgment of this miracle, she knelt to pray for victory and the souls of the departed. But even as she began to kneel, Napoleon grabbed the back of her neck and roughly hauled her up. While she gave squeal of indignation, he had pointed at the enemy ships.

"You still need to destroy the rest of them!"

"W-what? Okay, sure!"

Her heart now had no doubts, as she knew that she was doing righteous work. As the rain continued to fall in spades and lightning flashed, she raised her wand and calmly began chanting.

"_Osu Suunu Uryu Ru Rado_"

As she began, she felt something within her. It was strange but wonderful, and it was familiar. When she thought about it, it was this feeling that had always occurred whenever she failed her spells and was the laughingstock of her class. But now that she knew who she was, the feeling was no longer something to be fought, but to be embraced. She continued to chant and felt a great wave of magic swelling inside her, and so she gave a peaceful and happy smile. This was without a doubt the magic of the great Brimir, and she was to do his work in this world. Bring peace to her country, and save everyone she loved.

"_Beoozusu Yuru Suvyueru Kano Oshera_"

As she continued the chant, Napoleon stood behind her, his hands behind his back as he waited without seeking protection from the rain. He also knew that what had happened was a miracle, a sign. Destiny had granted him victory, as it had done all these many times. What had been done this day was an indication that he would need to continue marching down his road of unity, of power and of order. He would be the one to unite Helgekinia. He may have blown one chance to rule the world, but here was another, a fresh one. And as Louise finished her chant, he began to laugh again. It was maniacal, as he knew that he would once again march down the road which would lead him to his destiny. He would be the one to change the entire world.

And as he looked on, the Void mage pointed her wand at the sky, and as had occurred in that night in Tarbes, a small light appeared in the sky, next to a retreating Albion ship. And once again, it steadily expanded, consuming all of the Albion ships in the area. The Tristain forces stopped to look upon the holy light and were pleased. This light, which now destroyed the rest of the Albion fleet in the area, was another indication of the greatness of their cause, as they fought to defend their homes. As the Albion forces continued to flee, the Tristain army stopped and gave a great chant.

"The Founder has blessed us! Tristain is under the protection of Brimir! We shall be victorious!"

"Indeed! Indeed! Indeed!"

And with that, the defender advanced once again, destroying and routing the invaders to the wind. When night finally fell and the fighting ceased, the results were clear. The result of this day of battle had been possibly the greatest victory in the history of Tristain.


	20. The Hanged Man: Chapter 8

"_Paris at me feet_

_Paris in the Dust_

_And here's me breaking bread_

_With the upper crust!"_

_- Les Miserables_

…

…

The city of Londinium, capital of the Holy Republic of Albion, was awash with grief.

There was no way to hide it. Remnants of the Dragon Knights had managed to escape to Albion, and the prisoners whom had been captured by Tristain had sent a deluge of letters, far too many for any government censors to handle. Through those avenues, every citizen in the country had heard of the terrible news.

Over the course of a week, Albion had lost over a hundred ships, consisting of over half of its navy. When one factored in the number of dead and captured sailors needed to man that many ships along with the almost total destruction of the Albion invasion force, the country had lost over sixty thousand men in about a week. As many knew that they would never be able to bury their loved ones who had fallen in a land so far away, funeral pyres were lit in their memory. The sickly smell of incense hung over the capital like low cloud, creating a further air of gloom as everyone knew why the smell existed.

In the Howland Palace, Cromwell poured himself another glass of red wine. It had been his third today, and it was not even midday. Either way, he needed it, especially right before the meeting he was about to attend.

On the surface, things were still not that bad. Albion's Air Fleet even with the massive losses still outclassed and slightly outnumbered Tristain's. Furthermore and more importantly, Tristain had won such an impressive victory that it had shocked the other nations of Helgekinia. Even now, he had received reports from his spies within the Tristanian palace that the Germanian emperor continued to discuss how he could not go to war without the approval of the Imperial Diet, but it was a ruse which fooled no one. Germania was doing whatever it could to avoid entering this war, especially since the marriage between the Emperor and the beautiful Henrietta had been indefinitely postponed because of it.

But even with that good news, Albion was in absolutely severe trouble. The Albion ground forces had lost almost half of all of their men, and quite a few of the soldiers would be needed to quell the violent dissenters whom would erupt after such a catastrophic. Cromwell could realistically field no more than twenty thousand ground troops to defend his country. He could implement drastic measures to increase the amount of the soldiers, but even without considering the political risk, that would likely give no more than another ten thousand soldiers. And the remaining men were not as skilled as the ones who had died in La Rochelle. The result of these problems was that another invasion of Tristain by his country within the near future was utterly out of the question. If he was to actually win this war, it would have to be by waging a war of attrition while begin extremely cautious with the remaining ships.

And that wasn't even the worst of it. The lightning bolt which had destroyed the _Lexington_ was chance, it had to be. It had also killed Bowood, without a doubt his most able commander, and the people were panicking over the mysterious way it had been destroyed. But what truly concerned Cromwell were the reports of a great ball of light which had been how Tristain had managed to destroy so many Albion ships at once. Lightning could be explained by a whim of nature. That ball of light that had actually destroyed the entire Albion fleet at La Rochelle couldn't. It had to be magic, but what kind?

He would figure it out later. As Cromwell glanced at a clock in his office, he observed that he would have to leave now for the meeting. He stood up from the chair, staggering slightly before righting himself. Perhaps he had had a little too much to drink after all.

Just as he had put on his coat, the door opened. Sheffield, his indispensable private secretary was standing in the threshold.

"Sir, I know you're busy, but there's something you should know. It appears that the Viscount Wardes will survive after all."

Well that was good, thought Cromwell. It had been a pity that the traitor captain hadn't participated in the battle of La Rochelle. Then again, given how badly his forces had been destroyed, it probably was for the best that he wasn't there. He needed to conserve all the men he had left.

The leader of Albion finished putting on his coat and spoke to his subordinate.

"I'll pay him a visit later. But right now I've got to chat with old Joseph. I need to make sure that the efforts between Albion and Gallia stay coordinated if I, I mean Albion, want to win this war."

And without a further word, he left for his carriage.

…

As the crowds thronged in the street, the Tristain Army marched through their capital of Tristania. It had been five days since the great victory and miracle. The Army had been occupied with mop up operations and organizing the huge amount of prisoners which had been taken from the war. As a result, they had arrived in the capital only late last light, but today were marching out in the cheery mid-day sun to celebrate their triumph.

The parade was led by the Princess who rode atop one of the royal unicorns. The people cheered enthusiastically upon seeing their beloved ruler, she who had been proclaimed a saint. Were not the lightning strikes and the great ball of lightning proof that Brimir had bestowed his favor upon her and her country? She had protected the country, repelled the invasion, and the people were ecstatic to see their savior in her radiant beauty.

So they cheered. It was the "role" of the people to be grateful and offer their thanks to their ruler for the protection she had given to them. And it was the "role" of the princess to protect the country and then to accept the thanks which the people gave to her gracefully and happily.

Or rather, to accept the thanks while appearing happy and graceful.

Henrietta couldn't understand it, even as she gave a perfect smile and perfectly waved at the crowds. Why was no one else mourning her, condemning her? Yes, she had won a great victory, but at what cost? There were homeless and hungry people in La Rochelle, and she had left Agnes there to deal with the rebuilding efforts. She had in fact not planned for a celebration while she had been marching to her capital, but rather for a memorial for the fallen. But when she arrived in the cities, she had been greeted nonstop by celebrating crowds. They were people who had never seen war, yet exulted in a victory which they played no part of and ignored the dead whom had secured the safety of the nation. She didn't know what to think about it, and thus had been forced to play the "role" of protector, and not of a mourner.

And so she tried not to think. Execute the role of the Princess, wave to the crowds, that was what she was supposed to do. She moved forward, acting like a doll, without the feelings or emotions which she should have had on this glorious day. And so the procession reached a street corner, the last before she would move up the steps of the royal palace.

It happened in an instant. A woman stepped forward, and Henrietta saw her draw out a pistol.

"For my brothers you burned, you witch!" She cried, and the pistol fired.

Henrietta ducked instinctively, even as she chided herself for such a useless gesture. But the woman, burdened by her grief, had been unable to properly aim and the sun was in her eyes. The shot whizzed past Henrietta's ear. Even before Henrietta's bodyguards could ride up and apprehend the murderer, the nearby crowd immediately laid their hands on her.

"Your Majesty! Are you all right?"

Henrietta shook off the guard who had inquired about her safety and rode towards the woman. The crowd was assaulting her, attacking whatever part of their body they could with their fists or nearby stones.

"Stop! Stop!"

But even the command of someone whom the crowd had just been venerating proved useless in dispelling them. The bodyguards rode up, and with their pikes roughly pushed the crowd aside. But it was too late. The assassin had been trampled and torn to pieces in those few moments by the mob. Blood flowed down the street and onto the hooves of Henrietta's unicorn.

Having dispersed the crowd and ascertained the state of her assailant, the parade continued, though her bodyguards this time completely covered her from future attacks. There were still yells of approval here and there, but the celebratory mood had changed. Even those who had no way of knowing just what exactly had occurred no longer cheered quite as enthusiastically. Perhaps, Henrietta thought, it was better this way.

Several hours later, she sighed as she sat in her throne room. De Poitiers was in front of her, clutching a sheaf of papers. While Henrietta had summoned the general to give her a report about the care of the prisoners, it turned out that he had something else. His face was red and bulbous with rage, and after perfunctorily informing his lord that the prisoners were being well-treated and well-fed, he had given one of the papers he was holding to Henrietta. She stared at it for a moment before lowering it and speaking to De Poitiers

"It's a pamphlet. My friend's familiar and I are at the top of it. What's the matter?"

"WHAT'S THE MATTER?"

De Poitiers stopped abruptly upon realizing that he had just yelled at his master, and hastily coughed for a bit while Henrietta waited. Straightening himself out, he continued.

"Please, your Majesty, look at it. This pamphlet was distributed all over the commoner quarters. It talks about everything you and that captain did to secure the victory. I mean, look at it!"

Raising her eyebrows, Henrietta examined the pamphlet once more. The top consisted of a portrait of both Napoleon and herself, both looking out at the reader. The bottom consisted of a few pictures of the La Rochelle campaign, some of her, some of Napoleon, some of them together. Below that was a vivid description of the battle, with the sentences describing what those two had done.

Having noticed that she was done reading, De Poitiers spoke up.

"This paper is slander! It talks of nothing I did, it doesn't mention the stupid things he did like his failure to cover his precious guns! It completely besmirches my reputation on this battlefield!"

"You said it was distributed throughout the commoner quarters?"

"Yes!"

"How?"

De Poitiers paused at this line of questioning. What did it have to do with the problem he had?

"That captain apparently has some friends who are printers and artists, and they printed it out. But my reputation-"

"Why does your reputation among the commoners matter?"

The question hit the general hard, Henrietta could see. He stumbled about for a bit, looking for a reason as towards why a nobleman would be so concerned with the perspective of those classes who could not perform magic and whom they had always looked down on.

"Well… I mean, it's a matter of pride…"

Henrietta cut him off.

"De Poitiers. You have been a good and faithful officer who has served this country for many years. I don't care what anyone else thinks of you, you will always remain the commander of the Albion forces. But I'm sure you know that I need you to work with all the officers. Even the new one, whose capability I'm sure you know. Trust your princess, please?"

De Poitiers remained silent and Henrietta smiled. She needed both of them to work together if she was to win this war, and she didn't understand why De Poitiers was so concerned about the letters. As long as the commoners believed in their ruler, it would be fine.

"Very well. I will attempt to work with that captain. But understand, Princess, the converse must be true. He must be expected to work with me."

Henrietta bowed at that concession.

"Of course, general. The two of them are staying in Tristain, and will be attending tonight's victory ball. I'll be sure to have a talk with them."

As De Poitiers gave his thanks and left, Henrietta slouched down on the throne and covered her face. There was still so much to do. She had to plan the invasion and deal with the neutral countries. Furthermore, in the aftermath of her great victory, several of the nobles and Cardinal Mazarin had hoped that she would be crowned Queen, and her infirm mother had assented to the plan. The more she thought about it, the more she knew she would have to accept. Sooner or later, she would be the Queen of Tristain anyways. She might as well make it sooner.

She heard footsteps, and even with her face covered, she could tell whose steps it was. Relaxing a little, she stood up from the throne and looked at who had walked in.

"I haven't had the time to check on you. Is everything all right, Wales?"

The Prince of Albion, he who still claimed his throne, helplessly waved his arms.

"How can I complain? All the perks of being royalty while I've stayed in this palace, none of the exhaustion that comes with ruling. I wouldn't mind being in exile if it continues like this."

He gave a small chuckle at his own witticism, and Henrietta couldn't help but join in. Eventually, it turned into full laughter, as both began just happily laughing for seemingly no real reason at all. The two then dashed forward and hugged each other, just standing in each other's arms as they continued to laugh.

Wales was the first to stop and he stroked Henrietta's head for a while. They both fell silent and continued to remain as they were for quite some time. The prince was the first to break it.

"You know, it's been a while since I've seen you that happy, Henrietta. You don't know how worried I was."

"It's all right, Wales."

"No, no, let me finish."

The princess fell silent, and so Wales began to talk.

"You're not fighting this war for your country; you're fighting because you won't hand me over. And I'm so sorry for it."

"What are you talking, Wales? We both know that wouldn't have been the end of it!"

"I know, I know. You wouldn't have ended the possibility of war, only delayed it. But you could have gained time if you had given me up. Given yourself time to prepare for the invasion, fortified cities, I don't know what you could have done in the week, the month my life would have given your country. Perhaps you wouldn't have needed to burn down La Rochelle if you had given me up."

For some reason, Henrietta's mind flashed to something pink and there was something… wrong. Instinct told her to let whatever that thought was die and listen to Wales.

"I'm really an idiot, am I not? There's no need to think about the past. But Henrietta?"

"Yes?"

"You're going to invade Albion eventually, right?"

There was a long silence after those words as the two continued to hold each other. Henrietta sighed.

"Yes. I will invade Albion. And I'll put you back on the throne afterwards, and end Cromwell's reign."

Wales gave a small laugh for some reason.

"Well, then I'll be a king. And well, the marriage with Germania is cancelled, right?"

"Wh-wh-wh... wait a moment, you aren't proposing we-!"

Wales could feel Henrietta heating up as she still stammered.

"We-well… it would be a marriage of one monarch to another, right? It would be a formal, political arrangement! Not done because we're in love or something! But yes, Albion could be a valuable partner to Tristain, so it would be in the best interest of our country, right?"

Henrietta moved her head up and looked at Wales, who nuzzled his head to hers.

"Yes. Of course it would. It would only be a political arrangement."

Henrietta grasped him tighter in response, and no more words were said. Their fingers touched one another, and their two rings connected, creating the rainbow color of togetherness.

…

It was late at night, and the palace of Tristain was bustling with activity. While the commoners had had their chance to regale their ruler at the parade, the nobility also wanted their moment of congratulations. They had come to Henrietta and had requested to host an extravagant ball within the palace, one that would be paid by them. The ruler had accepted, and now the grand hall was filled with the upper crust of Tristanian society, as they flitted about and idly chatted with one another.

Louise stood at attention at one end of the walls. Practically none of the nobility knew her key contribution, and most of them wondered why the youngest daughter of the proud Valliere family was the only who was attending. However, for some reason she didn't mind. It was odd. She had always wanted to be great, to accomplish wonderful things and be acknowledged by everyone. But now that she had, she didn't mind that there was no one in the room who knew that she was a powerful mage.

"It's because you alone are the only who needs to acknowledge your superiority."

She turned her head. Her partner was the one who had spoken, and he was besides her. He had taken the time over the last few days to improve his uniform. Gold epaulettes were on his shoulder, and the muddy boots he had been wearing throughout the campaign had been replaced by elegant leather shoes. Still for some reason, he had insisted on wearing that horrible black pointed hat within the ballroom, and even as Louise looked up at him, her eyes kept flitting up to the thing.

"Can't you please do something about that monstrosity?"

He shrugged with his hands behind him in response.

"Oh come on. It's not any worse than what you tried to knit while we were marching back."

Louise's eyes shot up in anger, and Napoleon knew that she was thinking about drawing her wand. It didn't matter. To have been forced to use the Gandalfr abilities to take down that woolen demon merited his complaint. Perhaps Void Magic also would make her capable of summoning other creatures? He would try to find that out later.

"Anyways, what do you mean 'acknowledge my superiority'?"

"Exactly what I mean. You're wondering why you do not want to talk about everything you've done, right?"

Louise nodded.

"That's because you know you're better than them. What good are the adulations of someone below you? Nothing. The mark of a confident person is that he is alone, secure in his own superiority. And the only way to prove that superiority is through great deeds.

You are a great mage, Louise, and one who has my respect. You've earned it."

Napoleon finished, and nothing was more said between them. They continued to wait in the back, watching the other nobles as they conversed with one another. None of the other nobles seemed to have any interest in speaking to them, and Napoleon and Louise caught bits and pieces of what they said. Louise couldn't help but smile at some of the ridiculous stories which were already being told about the battle, though she did rather like one story of how the musketeers had ridden on dragons and stormed the_Lexington_.

There was a ringing sound of a bell, and the group of nobles quickly quieted down, only to look up and see Henrietta arrive at a balcony above them. She wore a white evening gown with a black choker around her neck. Her guards moved behind her, highly concerned about her security after what happened during the parade, and besides her was the Prince of Wales. The crowd murmured at the presence of the exiled sovereign, but as the princess waved, they responded with a massive outburst of applause. The nobles finally stopped after several minutes and their ruler began to speak.

"I am aware of the greatness of our victory, and how we should celebrate it. Almost forty thousand Albion soldiers, assisted by a hundred and twenty ships which held about twenty thousand additional men, attacked our great nation. By ourselves, with no one but Brimir to assist us, we beat them back and utterly destroyed their armies with incredibly few losses. Over the course of that entire campaign, we may have lost less than ten thousand men on our side.

The invasion of our great land has hardly been the only crime which the Reconquista have committed. They started a rebellion against their own king whom many on the day of his coronation had sworn to follow and obey to the very end. They employed all sorts of cowardly tactics in order to fuel their lust for power. And when they took control and murdered all of the Royal Family asides from the Prince besides me, they immediately set their sights on conquering further territory, not even permitting their dear land to rest for a second from the ravages of war. But with our courage and Brimir's will, shown through the great lightning bolt which destroyed their symbol of arrogance in the _Lexington_, we triumphed and have for now secured the safety of our fair Tristain.

But while we may allow ourselves a brief period of rejoicing, and however few suffered, we must never forget. We cannot forget those who perished at La Rochelle and those who fought in plains and mountains to defend our country. And we must still remember that this war is not over. I will never, ever surrender. Not until Albion is invaded and Cromwell is made to answer for his crimes against Tristain! His injuries against us have been grave and without mercy! So we will continue to fight in the name of justice. We will advance on Albion, in the name of Brimir and our freedom! Long live Tristain!"

Her speech ended and the nobles cheered. Cries of "Long Live Henrietta!" filled the room for quite some time, only broken by spates of applause. Louise naturally applauded upon hearing her friend speak, but then noted that Napoleon was also applauding. However, unlike the rest of the crowd, his clapping was polite, calm, and almost mechanical.

As the clapping finished, the musicians began to play, and the ball formally began. Louise wondered what she would do, and then jerked up. Napoleon had grabbed her hand.

"WH-what are you doing, Napoleon?"

Her partner blinked in confusion.

"What are you talking about? It's a ball. You dance in balls. That's what the other nobles are doing, isn't it?"

"Well… you're being too brutish about it, you military freak!"

"Alright, alright."

Those were the words he mumbled, but then he whipped off his hand and gave a deep bow to Louise.

"My apologies, mademoiselle. May I please have this dance?"

Louise trembled in response for some reason she didn't understand. She then abruptly grabbed his hand and practically dragged him to the dance floor. The two walked towards the center of the dance floor together, listening to the music.

"This is a minuet, isn't it?"

Louise nodded in response to her partner's statement.

"Do you know how to dance?"

"In my world. Your dancing does seem similar enough."

As the first minuet ended, they took proper positions, standing apart with their fingers lightly touching. The music started, and Louise began to twirl.

Then the doors of the ballroom slammed open with a bang so loud that it overwhelmed the soft music. The performers stopped and the nobles with annoyance turned towards the person who stood in entrance. But as they saw her, anyone who thought of yelling at the intruder for disturbing the party promptly decided that discretion was the better part of valor. With her blonde hair waving about like a Gorgon and a demonic aura surrounding her, the monster let out a roar.

"WHERE ARE YOU, LOUISE FRANCOISE LE BLANC DE LA VALLIERE? PLAYING SOLDIER? COME OUT AND FACE YOUR BIG SISTER ELEANOR'S PUNISHMENT!"

As the crowd reacted with shocked silence, Napoleon looked at Louise. The girl who had defeated over a hundred ships had apparently had been stricken dumb with shock, and fear was written all over her now pale-white face. He sighed and glanced over the woman who continued roaring in the doorway for his partner.

"Things never work out just as they're supposed to, are they?"


	21. The Hanged Man: Chapter 9

_I tell you: one must still have chaos within oneself, to give birth to a dancing star._

_Friedrich Nietzsche_

…

…

"Owowowowow id hurds big sis id hurds!"

"I don't care about that! Get in the carriage! You're going home and are going to get a proper scolding from Father and Mother! Running around and fighting in La Rochelle, what in Brimir's name were you thinking?"

It had not taken long for Eleanor to found her little sister. The sheer audacity of a young noblewoman to crash such a prestigious party was simply beyond the scale of belief for practically everyone there. Consequently, the nobles at the party had seemingly decided to pretend that the blonde demon didn't exist, and so after a bit of stalking around, she had grabbed Louise and headed outside without saying a single word to anyone else. Once she had left the party with Louise in tow, she had boxed her ears before giving her sister a serious talk ranging from the Familiar Summoning ritual to her fighting in the battle to her not having a proper noble husband already. About the only important thing that Louise took away from the ranting was that apparently Eleanor had been told by their mother, the Duchess de la Valliere, about Louise's involvement in the battle. That just made things much worse – if Eleanor was acting like this, then her mother would likely actually kill Louise for her transgressions.

There was a carriage nearby, its door open. Eleanor, continuing to drag Louise along by her now sorely stretched cheeks, tossed her in and then sat down herself. It was only then that Eleanor realized that the two were not alone in the carriage, and soon the pink-haired girl gave a squeak of surprise.

"N-Napoleon! What are you doing here?"

Her partner gave a sigh at hearing those words. He looked out of the carriage and munched on a small loaf of bread, his saber lying on his lap and his hat on his head.

"Your sister did spend five minutes outside of the ballroom tugging at your cheeks. There was no point in interfering, so I just moved past and waited for you two."

"B-but…"

As Louise hesitated on what to say, Eleanor interrupted her.

"Enough, Louise! Who is this man! He's far too old for someone like you to marry!"

Each of Eleanor's sentences was coupled by a further tug of Louise's cheeks, and while Napoleon's partner did blush, she wasn't capable of saying anything a human could understand. As the cycle of incomprehensible gibberish and cheek pulling continued, Napoleon interjected.

"My name is Napoleon Bonaparte. Your sister summoned me, and thus I'm her partner. I am from a differ-"

His attempt to properly explain who he was cut by a wave of Eleanor's hand and she started shrieking to Louise once again.

"You did summon someone? A commoner?"

"Well, he's not quite a commoner…"

Louise looked down as the words slowly dropped out of her mouth. All of the confidence and pride she had possessed had vanished under the pressure from her sister. Regardless, her weak response only served to anger Eleanor even further.

"What are you talking about? There's no way you could have summoned a noble. In fact, there's no way you could have summoned a human! Are you playing some sort of game with the Sacred Ritual, like hiring some commoner to be your familiar? Mother will slice you into a thousand pieces for your insolence!"

The cheek pulling and hair tousling continued and Louise squeaked helplessly in the face of her sister's assault. Eleanor then abruptly turned towards Napoleon, whom aside from sticking his left hand in his shirt, had not moved at all.

"I don't know who you are or what trick you're playing, but even if Louise did summon you, you're just a servant! Go get another carriage. You can wait for an opportunity to wait on your master later, commoner!"

The tone was imperious and brusque. They were the words of a noblewoman who was used to giving commands and having them executed. To Napoleon, someone who regarded himself as of higher rank than a common noble, such a command was the worst possible thing to do.

"Excuse me?"

He made no movement, but Louise could easily tell from his voice how infuriated he was. Were it not for the face that his voice also held a tone of pure disbelief, it sounded just like his mood when he had heard of the threat to that plane in Tarbes. However, her sister was visibly confused by this commoner's reaction and so chose to strike again at Napoleon's pride.

"What do you mean 'Excuse me'? Get another carriage right now, or we'll leave without you!"

"Oh, shut up."

Eleanor's eyes widened at the insult and she made to draw her wand. But she was too slow. Napoleon had been clutching his pistol the entire time and with a quick flip of his wrist, pointed it at Eleanor's head. The eldest Valliere daughter, realizing the situation she was in, glared daggers at him rather than saying anything. Napoleon was the one who spoke.

"I have no intention to kill you. I don't believe Louise would ever forgive me if I did. Out of my generosity, I'm not asking to be treated with the rank an Emperor deserves.

But treat me like a servant and we will have problems. Understand?"

Having finished his warning, Napoleon looked at Louise. While Eleanor had turned red at the idea of a commoner using a weapon against her, Louise had turned white like she had when her sister first appeared. There was silence for a few seconds, and then Napoleon stood up clutching the weapon.

With no further words, he grabbed the saber and left the carriage, but then he stopped at the door. Did he change his mind?

"By the way, Eleanor, you're nowhere as abusive towards Louise as you think you are. Joseph treated me far worse."

And with those words, he closed the door, leaving the two sisters together. While Louise trembled about facing Eleanor's wrath especially after Napoleon had apparently goaded her on, the blond-haired woman did nothing. With a huff, she sat back on one side of the carriage, while Louise took the other.

"Louise, who in Brimir's name is that madman?"

…

The journey had so far proved entirely uneventful. Napoleon had found a carriage and ordered the coachman to follow the carriage in which both Vallieres were in. When he had sit down, it was only then that he was finally hit by a tidal wave of exhaustion. He had been working nonstop over the past week, planning the campaign, fighting, urging on Louise, and organizing and discussing things with Giono as they distributed the pamphlets. He was honestly surprised that none of the nobility had made a move against them. They, whom had had commoners obeying them their entire lives, likely had no idea of how to truly and properly inspire people. Henrietta was no exception. She was someone who had been loved and respected her whole life, and was now being considered a saint. Such a person would never truly learn what it meant to manipulate the hearts and minds of others.

Still, La Rochelle was a test case for how well the pamphlets would work. He knew that Giono would be distributing them out to the rest of Tristain, as the printer sincerely believed that showcasing the role of his friend was a worthy deed. The fact that Napoleon had given away most of the rewards which had been bestowed on him to his printer friend hadn't hurt, either.

But as he continued to rest, his knees creaked with pain. Napoleon silently endured it, but he couldn't as a result stop thinking about his own mortality. He wasn't young anymore. His life would no doubt be better than the exile that he knew would have been his fate on Earth, but still, he doubted he would have many years left. He should probably take a look into utilizing magic which could extend his own life somehow, or at minimum just reduce his current pain.

He began to doze off, only to be startled by a tapping noise on the carriage windows. There was a gray thing fluttering outside, and Napoleon recognized it as Joan, the parrot familiar which belonged to Martin. But what was it doing here?

He opened the door enough to let the parrot fly in, and it quickly took the opportunity. Settling down, it perched on Napoleon's leg, and it began to make a caw of "Thank you!" repeatedly. There was a pouch tied to the bird's back, and Napoleon removed it. Joan had spotted the half-eaten loaf which Napoleon had brought with him to the carriage, and began to eat while he opened the pouch. It contained a letter from the bird's master.

_Hello Captain!_

_I sent Joan out to deliver this to you, as it's something that she's really good at. If she's seen a she makes a great messenger. Take care to feed her when you get this, will you? She really likes vegetables, particularly tomatoes. Also, try to keep her away from her from your girlfriend._

_I'm sure you know already, but her Majesty ordered us to stay back and fix up the mess in La Rochelle, which means that we're working back under Agnes for now! It's been great to see her again. She's a bit confused about the fact that we're working together now, and I think Foucard's more terrified of you than of her! It's amazing how badly this city was wrecked, though the harbor tree looks like it can be salvaged somehow. That thing was too big to burn._

_I don't know where you actually are now that I think about it, though I'm sure you got dragged to some party or conference with the rest of the big shot moron generals. All the same, we just wanted to say our thanks. You talked about us fighting for something greater than money, and while we've sure gotten money now thanks to her Majesty and you, it's great to be honored. We got new uniforms, which are the same with everyone else in the guards, and Agnes told us that the men will be getting new weapons. Some of the men are grumbling about losing their pikes, but it'll be fine._

_Also since you're meeting a bunch of nobles these days, I do have a favor to ask. If you do ever see the Duke of Walloon, old pappy, slug him in the face for me, will you?_

The letter should have ended there. However, it went on for another five pages as Martin apparently had decided to talk about all of the various women he had unsuccessfully attempted to romance even while rebuilding the city. Napoleon sighed as he went through the rest of the letter, before setting it down. He was confused about why everyone seemed to think that there was something between him and his partner, he admitted. Then again, most people had no idea that he had already fallen in love once, and he wasn't interested in doing so again given how that had turned out.

Martin had left the backside of each page unwritten, but Napoleon had no writing materials with him to craft a response. Even if he did, writing on a moving and bumping carriage would have been difficult.

In the meantime, Joan had consumed all of the bread, and then after spouting "Thank you" one last time, he flew off. Napoleon watched the bird fly off into the distance, wondering how it had known where he was and how it would find Martin. Then he sank back into the carriage seat and drifted off to sleep.

…

"So that's your entire story?"

Two days had passed. It had hardly been a refreshing trip for Louise. She spent most of her time being grilled by Eleanor about everything, from life at the Academy to what she had been doing at La Rochelle, interspersed with the cheek-pulling that the elder sister was so skilled at. The nights when they rested were hardly better, as Napoleon and Eleanor barely interacted with each other, and none of the occupants had the slightest idea about actually cooking out in an open field. The fact that Louise had had no time to pack and thus was stuck in the same evening gown for those two days hadn't helped either.

They had entered Valliere territory about six hours ago, and would reach their castle and home later in the evening. The amount of territory held by one of the most prestigious families in Tristain if not Helgekinia was enormous, as to travel from one end of the Valliere lands to the other would take over an entire day. They were one of the five great families of Tristan, and had also been strengthened by their connections to the royal throne.

Eleanor sat in the carriage, having finished listening to Louise. She had finally explained everything she knew about Napoleon, what he was like, how he had helped her, and everything that the pair had been doing ever since he had been summoned.

Well, almost everything. Henrietta had told her to keep quiet about the Void, and so Louise didn't mention that. When Eleanor had asked her if she had any idea about what that ball of light was, she shrugged. All the same, it was odd. Her mother seemed to know a lot about what had occurred, way more than Louise had expected.

Eleanor gave a huff. It was clear that she dearly wanted to do some more cheek pulling for all the stupid things that her younger sister had done, but she decided to wait.

"Fine. I don't care about what you did in La Rochelle, as Mother and Father will deal with you properly for that. But what about him? What is he after?"

"What are you talking about? Napoleon has been my partner. I wouldn't have gotten so far nor done so much without him."

"That's not what I'm talking about, Louise. Because from everything you've said, it's clear you know nothing about him."

"He's told me his story!"

"No, he hasn't. Louise, he's told you nothing beyond the fact that he ruled the world, and that he started out from nothing. He didn't even tell you about his wife directly. The process of how he came to rule the world? He's mentioned nothing about it and nothing about what his world was like before and while he ruled it. That's the problem."

Louise began a retort and then hesitated. Just then as she was thinking of a great response, the carriage came to a halt. The two looked around in confusion before the coachmen appeared in the window.

"The horses are tired. We're going to taking a short break."

Eleanor grumbled slightly but Louise nodded. After a bit, the two left the carriage. They saw that Napoleon, who had continually remained them, was already out of his carriage and was leisurely stretching.

The two carriages had stopped outside what appeared to be a small town. They walked around for a bit, but then out of the building the commoners streamed out. Despite their high rank and prestige, the family did take care to make sure that those under their dominion were reasonably well off. The fact that many of the residents could afford cotton clothing and were not rail thin from hunger was evidence of the benevolence of their rule. With cries of "Miss Eleanor" and "Miss Louise", they bowed, some of them prostrating themselves on the dirt while others inquired about what they could do to help the weary travelers.

Eleanor strode forwards to an inn to rest for a moment, while Louise waved her hands. It was always nice to see the peasants, and the fact that her family took good care of their people gave her no small measure of pride. As she saw a few more of the commoners stream in, she waved towards them and then decided to follow her sister.

"Napoleon! Come on!"

She turned around to give a call to her partner, but then stopped. The farmers and commoners were bowing to him just as they did to Louise. From their perspective, the man in the uniform was an attendant to their lords and thus deserved respect. Louise had assumed that as he had been an Emperor, he would have been completely comfortable with having those people bow to him in such a manner.

But she was completely wrong. The initial expression on Napoleon's face had first been that of shock, and now it was switching into distaste. He opened his mouth quite a few times as if he wanted to say something, but every time no sound came out. After repeating that pattern for a bit, he just strode forward to the inn, leaving Louise behind.

As he entered the inn, he looked for Eleanor. She was sitting on a chair in the corner, and Napoleon abruptly sat down across from her, causing her to start up.

"What are you doing here? Commoners cannot sit at the same tables as nobles!"

"What the hell is the matter with you people?"

"Huh?"

Eleanor was taken aback by Napoleon's complete ignorance of her complaint. He pointed out at the crowds of people who were now surrounding Louise. It was clear that the youngest daughter was truly beloved by the commoners, though the fancy dress surely didn't hurt.

"You can look at people just crawling on the dirt, fawning about, and not want to throw up?"

Eleanor simply stared at Napoleon for a while before answering with a confused tone.

"Louise told me you were an Emperor. If you were any good at it, you should have had people who're doing what they're doing to Louise now. It's just something that comes with being a good ruler."

"No. The people cheered me, courtiers bowed to me. But the people, commoners, did not bow and scrape in the earth or fawn over me like dogs."

Eleanor raised her eyebrows, only to pause as an innkeeper stopped by and deposited a cup of black tea for both of them. She took a sip, and then responded.

"Commoners, dogs, what's the difference? As long as lower orders show deference to us nobles, it doesn't matter whether they cheer or bow from my perspective. Perhaps you can tell them that it's better to cheer if it means so much to you."

Napoleon's gaze turned stony upon hearing her quip, but Eleanor continued.

"Well, I answered your question, so you answer mine. Who are you?"

"I'm sure Louise has told you plenty about me already."

His response was quick, but Eleanor smiled in response.

"Nice deflection. But fine, I'll be more specific. Louise told me that you didn't start off ruling the world, you obtained it. How?"

She was a smart woman, Napoleon noted. Still he had been prepared for that question for a long time.

"The country fell into strife when I was a young man, and there was a civil war. I unified the country, and then set out to conquer the world and succeeded."

"What were the two sides in the civil war?"

"You only answered one question of mine, so I'm only answering one question of yours."

Eleanor stared at that response, but then both them saw that Louise had managed to escape the crowd. As she ran towards them, both of them noticed that she was shining brightly for some reason. She leapt and hugged her sister while giggling with delight.

"Big sis! Why didn't you tell me that you were engaged! Congratulations!"

…

Napoleon clambered out of the carriage and looked at the setting sun. He then moved towards the violently rocking carriage in front of him and opened the door.

"Eleanor, would you please let go of my partner now that you've arrived at your home?"

It had been about eight hours since they had left the village, and Louise had suffered more physical violence at the hands of her sister during that time span than compared to the previous two days. Eleanor had been engaged to a prominent Earl, only for it to be broken off for a reason she couldn't comprehend. It was a reason which everyone else was fully capable of comprehending, especially Louise. Even if Eleanor was a beautiful lady, no beauty was worth putting up with someone that crazy.

Then again, it might be worth it if one could get access to the entire Valliere estate. Napoleon really was surprised by their power and influence. In addition to the massive territory they owned, their palace really was from the outside an example of elegant taste and wealth. The entrance was of yellow stone, with pillars at the front. The entire appearance managed to show their wealth while at the same avoiding the appearance of being ostentatious. When Napoleon thought about it, he really had underestimated Louise from the beginning. The fact that his partner possessed that much wealth and prestige could no doubt eventually prove to be useful.

Due to the circumstances, there was a general lack of luggage for both Louise and Napoleon, and even Eleanor had brought only a small travelling bag. Nevertheless, a coachman carried the bag, and the group moved forward.

"Eleanor, I'm glad to see you're back."

Napoleon heard a voice at the entrance to the Valliere palace. There was another woman there, one who looked astonishingly similar to her own partner, from her flowing long pink hair to her unblemished face. Perhaps the biggest difference was that in contrast to Louise who always possessed a restless personality, this person carried a placid demeanor. Still, the two were probably related.

The similarities between the two was made all the more apparent when with a giant happy squeal, Louise dashed forward with a loud cry of "Cattleya!" and threw herself into the woman's arms.

"It's been so long, big sister!"

"Louise, Louise, is it really you? You've really grown up!"

Louise blushed with happiness as the other three people moved up the stairs. The coachmen went inside with Eleanor's bag while Napoleon and Eleanor waited for those two. Eventually, the two broke off and Cattleya, whom appeared to be another elder sister to Louise, went to the two of them.

"Big sis, it's good to see you back. Did you have a pleasant journey?"

Eleanor mumbled something which no one could hear, but Cattleya smiled nonetheless. It appeared to Napoleon that while Eleanor was the eldest, she treated Cattleya differently compared to her other younger sibling.

While he wondered why, the middle sister moved to Napoleon, tilting her head as if she was wondering who he was.

"So, may I ask who you are?"

Napoleon's response was to give a gracious, proper bow, in contrast to the pathetic groveling of those peasants beforehand.

"A pleasure to meet you, Cattleya. I am Napoleon Bonaparte, the partner of your younger sister."

"Partner? Does that mean that – "

"It means she summoned me in the Springtime Summoning Ritual to be her familiar. However, to be a familiar implies being a servant to someone, and I am no one's servant. So I have consented to be her partner."

Cattleya gave a giggle to that response.

"Well, that's not what I was going to ask, but it'll do. I am Cattleya Yvette La Baume Le Blanc de La Valliere. It is a pleasure to meet you, uh…"

"Bonaparte will do."

"Very well, Bonaparte. I am so happy to have all of you here and you all got here just in time for the evening meal. Unfortunately, Father is out tonight on some business, but we should get going now that you've come back home."

Cattleya skipped ahead of the group and opened the main doors, and the rest of the group followed her. As they moved on through the main hall and towards the dining hall, Napoleon couldn't help but observe the luxury which the Valliere family possessed. Fine sculptures and works of art adorned the hall, while servants were cleaning the area, ranging in age from Louise's age to old women. Not one of them however seemed to be discontent in their work. Upon noticing the group, they turned and gave a proper bow to them while wishing them well for their return.

As Napoleon watched, Cattleya continued to chat to Louise about some of the new animals she had collected while they were gone. Apparently she kept a massive collection of all sorts of beasts, and she vividly imitated how some new bird she got flapped its wings while Louise laughed at her antics. Eleanor simply watched them all in silence, though she kept glancing at Napoleon as he looked and sometimes stopped at particularly good works of art.

"Well, here we are at the dining room. Let's greet Mother!"

There was an imposing set of double doors at the end of the main hall. The sisters stopped and took some time to brush themselves up before entering the dining hall. However, before any of them made a move, the doors slowly opened outward to their surprise, and the three girls gasped in surprise.

The Duchess de la Valliere, she whom was known to a select few as the terrifying Karin of the Heavy Wind, was standing behind the doorway with her hands clasped behind her. She was wearing fashionable evening clothes, and her pink hair was tied behind her in a bun. Her eyes were closed as she stood in front of her daughters.

One eye opened, and Louise couldn't help but take a step back, though all three were visibly frightened. And then her mother spoke to them with a voice of irritation.

"Eléonore Albertine Le Blanc De La Blois De La Vallière.

Cattleya Yvette La Baume Le Blanc de La Valliere.

Louise Francoise Le Blanc de La Valliere.

Tell me, my daughters. Why have you allowed a monster to enter our home?"

The three sisters stared at each other, then behind them at the last person in the hallway. But Napoleon stood there looking at the Duchess, ignoring the stares from them. Not even Louise was acknowledged. Karin did likewise, and so the two stared at each other upon meeting for the first time. Even as they both wore blank expressions as they looked at each other, anyone around the two could tell the sparks which were being emitted.

And so this was how two legendary fighters from different worlds met for the first time.


	22. The Hanged Man: Chapter 10

"_Watch the fires burning across the river."_

_Thirty-Six Strategems._

_..._

_..._

Louise, Cattleya, and Eleanor remained in shocked silence as Napoleon and Karin confronted one another. Karin, on one end, stood behind the doorway, her hands clasped behind her and assuming the pose of a proud and proper noble. Napoleon stood behind the sisters, keenly examining the Duchess. It was clear that as she was the host, she chose to wait for him to make the first move.

And so he did, by bowing to her.

"A pleasure, Duchess de la Valliere. I am Napoleon Bonaparte, Emperor of the French, King of Italy, Protector of the Confederation of the Rhine, Mediator of the Helvetic Confederation. It is an honor to meet the mother of my partner, Louise Francoise le Blance de la Valliere."

Now the sisters were surprised, with Louise being the most shocked of all. It was the first time ever since she had formed the contract with him that he had actually used his full title. Not even Henrietta had received that level of dignity. It was clear that Napoleon necessarily didn't like her mother, but he did view him as someone who was worthy of the highest respect.

The dignified and proper statement, however, seemed to make not even the slightest impression on Karin as she coldly responded.

"You call yourself an Emperor? A king? What kind of insane world would do something like that?"

"M-mother…"

Louise timidly attempted to speak up in Napoleon's defense, but it did nothing more than trigger her mother's wrath. Karin turned towards Louise, her one open eye fiercely gazing at her youngest daughter.

"As for you? Summoning someone like him is understandable. Even contracting him is something I can comprehend. But how could you stay loyal after-"

She abruptly stopped, as if there was something more she wanted to say. Closing her eye, she turned her back to the group.

"We will have dinner. Eleanor, Cattleya, you will return to your rooms after the meal. Understand?"

The two of them nodded, while Louise and Napoleon shot a quick glance at each other. The talk wasn't over. Karin no doubt had more things to say to them when there would be no one else to disturb them.

The dinner was in the best Helgekinian style, with fine chinaware and silverware being laid on the long table. But there was no conversation. Even though Karin had quieted down, her oppressive and proud air still lingered throughout the room, quelling even the most remote thoughts of the sisters to talk to one another.

As Louise looked up from her salad, she gave an "eep!" of surprise. Karin was at one end of the table, and her two sisters were directly to the left of her, giving furtive glances at one another. But Napoleon was sitting at the other end of the table across from Karin. There was no food in front of him, but he made no reaction about it, and neither did Karin about the place where he sat. The dinner continued in silence.

As the servants cleared the last of the dishes away, Eleanor and Cattleya stood up and bowed to their mother. Then, still not saying a word the entire time they were in there, the two of them left the room and closed the door behind them. Louise could hear their footsteps fading into the distance before her mother spoke up.

"I had intended to discuss things when father returned, but I honestly had expected Eleanor to return with only you, Louise. The fact that you brought your familiar along changes things."

"Mother, he is not my familiar, he is my-"

"What? Are you saying you did not summon him? Then what is he to you?"

"I-I mean-"

Louise stammered in response to this line of questioning, even though it was something she had gone over many times before. Facing Eleanor was one thing, but her mother, this icy duchess, was a hundred times worse. There was nothing in Helgekinia, even after seeing a battlefield and a burning city, which terrified her this badly.

Fortunately, Napoleon broke in. Somehow over the course of this conversation, he had managed to get one of the servants to bring him a cup of coffee. Even though he put nothing in it, he stirred it idly as he responded in Louise's place.

"She did summon me, and I accepted her contract. But as much respect as I hold for Louise, an Emperor does not work under anyone. I have consented to be her partner, equal with her. The fact that I even acknowledged that we should be equals should be something which you should be proud of, Duchess. I would not have done that with just any mage."

"And why did you do that? Why did an Emperor consent to be the equal of a girl who has had great difficulties with the simplest spells?"

Louise blushed in shame with that, and while she wanted to tell her mother about how she had accomplished, she remained silent about the Void like she knew she had to. In the meantime, Napoleon continued.

"Your daughter is not someone without significant magical potential. As my titles should have made clear, I am not part of this world, and that world did not possess magic. But I did not become Emperor without being able to discern hidden talent."

"Hidden talent? Like what she and you did at La Rochelle?"

Napoleon raised an eyebrow at Karin's question.

"Come again?"

"Don't play games with me!"

The oppressive air coming from Karin grew even stronger in response to his deflection. But even then, the primary emotion that came from Louise was not fear, but rather confusion. How did she - ?

"I know what happened there! I know what both of you did in the name of my country as you burned down one of the greatest cities of Tristain! So tell me, Napoleon, what are you after, and how far do you intend to drag my daughter into your plans?"

Silence followed that question, but it was then followed by a low sound which only Louise could hear. Napoleon was grinding his teeth and the next words were spoken slowly.

"I see. It appears I underestimated him. How much did De Poitiers tell you?"

"What?"

Louise gave a gasp at those words, though Napoleon did not even look at her while he responded.

"Your mother seems to know quite a bit more about what happened on this battlefield compared to most nobles. After all, most of them at the ball didn't recognize me in the slightest, while the Duchess has even though we have never met before. Someone told her about me, someone high up who would know everything about what happened at La Rochelle."

While those words were said lightly, Napoleon was highly irritated. Even with his propaganda campaign beginning among the commoners, his base of support was currently incredibly shaky. As Agnes had told him before the battle, Henrietta was the main if not only thing keeping him from digging ditches for the noble military leadership. He had guessed that eventually the old generals would start to work together with the nobility as a way of limiting him, but he hadn't thought they would move until Albion was completely invaded. Furthermore, even though he didn't think Karin was lying when she said she hadn't expected him, it was a boon for De Poitiers, as Napoleon was stuck quite a distance away from the command.

If there was anything to be positive about, it was just that Napoleon had to be thankful towards Eleanor and the scene she caused when she dragged Louise out of the ball. All the nobles, and especially Henrietta, no doubt knew where the Valliere daughter and his partner were right now. If they hadn't, then De Poitiers would have had an easier time separating Napoleon from the leadership. For now, he listened for Karin to confirm his deduction.

"The general and I are acquaintances from my days in the military, and he is a loyal friend of the Valliere family. He's written me a lot about what has been occurring in the battlefield over the past few days."

"So you know what element Louise is?"

For the first time in their conversation, Karin seemed to hesitate before responding.

"Yes."

"Then you should be aware of why Tristain and the crown will demand her service."

"The crown or you? And I'll ask again, Emperor. What are you after? Don't tell me that your only interest in this world is developing my daughter's magic."

"What does it matter? I've had plenty of time to look at your military and compare it to Albion's, Karin. Without Louise or me, Tristain has no hope of victory. Albion will just retreat to their continent, regroup, and then either launch another invasion or pillage the countryside. And I'm sure you know this already."

There was a long silence that followed his words. Napoleon took a sip of coffee while Karin leaned back in her chair, as if she was making a decision.

"Louise!"

"Yes?"

The girl jumped to attention upon hearing her mother's words.

"Go to your room. Alone. Father will be returning from his business tomorrow. We can talk about what to do with you then."

She stammered once again, but Napoleon gave her a reassuring smile.

"There's nothing to worry about, Louise. We'll just be continuing our discussion."

While she hesitated a bit, this time she accepted. Bowing one more time at her mother, she quickly left the room, leaving the two of them alone. Napoleon sank back into his chair, taking another drink from his cup before speaking.

"You really are more formidable than Henrietta, Duchess. I'm genuinely impressed."

"So you really are manipulating her Majesty, are you?"

Napoleon gave a snort of disbelief at those words.

"Of course not! Henrietta is a monarch, a legitimate one who truly has the support of her people. She is someone who deserves the utmost respect. She is, however, a young girl, and whoever her tutors were, if they had any intention of letting her rule, they did a horrendous job at teaching her how. La Rochelle was just as much for her sake as Tristain's. She clearly never understood that rulers like her and I must be willing to sacrifice if we are to keep our power. Even now, I don't know if she does as I was interrupted by your eldest daughter before I could properly assess how Henrietta's developed.

But let me ask you, Duchess. Are you really intending that the Valliere family, one of the most powerful houses in Tristain, will stay out of this war altogether? And that you will disobey your princess?"

Karin waved a hand as she responded.

"I will deal with what Louise's role in this war will be when father returns tomorrow. But are you telling me you plan to stay loyal to her Majesty?"

"A family whose heads do not seem to have an interest in a war in the defense of their nation chooses to lecture me about loyalty? Duchess, for as much as you're concerned about the possibility of Henrietta being manipulated by me, you sure seem interested in using her goodwill to conserve your own strength."

"What are you saying, Emperor?"

The Duchess's voice grew a little lower at the potential insinuations Napoleon was making, but he simply looked down at his coffee and smiled.

"Why, nothing at all. I'm simply taking a stock of political realities, which state that one of the most powerful families in Tristain seems to be utterly uninterested in the defense of Tristain. I've heard about your Rule of Steel, Duchess, which believes in obeying the authority of the monarch. Perhaps it becomes a little more flexible when you have your own interests?"

"Why you!"

Karin forcefully stood up to those goading words, and some dishes clattered and smashed to the ground in her fury. The oppressive air around her now became hostile, with a clear target in mind.

"Do you have any idea who you are, Emperor? You're just nothing than a particularly skilled courtier who has fallen in favor with her Majesty, and who has somehow still retained it even after you destroyed one of her cities. I have no idea how you do it, or what clever words you use to keep her around. But if you keep acting like this, I will, the nobility will, we will cut you down if you go too far. Do you know what one of the basic elements of the Rule of Steel is?"

"What?"

"Know. Your. Place."

Silence followed her authoritative words. Karin began to walk out of the room, this time not even looking at Napoleon as she spoke.

"Now, if you'll excuse, I have an actual guest of value to deal with in the library. I and the Duke will be seeing you in the morning with my daughter, Emperor."

The doors closed behind her and Napoleon was left alone. He sighed the moment the Duchess left. He had succeeded in his objective. By goading and lightly mocking Karin, he had provoked her enough to forget her line of questioning about his own goals, but not so much as to get his head ripped off. But it had been a delicate balancing game. Tomorrow, with the Duke appearing would be the main discussion. He needed to get Louise and himself out of this castle and into the battlefield, whether through talking, violence, or deception. To him, it really didn't matter how.

A servant appeared to sweep up the broken dishes, and Napoleon called her over and asked for some wine. He would leave Louise alone with her sisters for the night. However useful she was, his partner did deserve a break.

…

Tristain Academy had been a bustling place ever since the outbreak of the war. The Valliere girl had vanished from the minute the news of the war appeared, and everyone of prominence in the castle had heard that she had participated in the battle, only to be accosted by her family afterwards. No one paid much attention to it. After all, aside from her familiar and that maid, most people observed that she had never really made any new friends even when she was there.

In the meantime, even a place consisting of schoolchildren geared up for war. As the members of the Tristain Academy were all nobles, many of them were called up to prepare to enter the camps, whether to the Sky Navy or National Army alongside their parents. In past wars, most of them would have been called into the Royal Army, but Henrietta had temporarily ordered a freeze on any new recruits in the Royal Army for some reason. There were also objections from some noble parents who declared that their precious sons or daughters were too young to enter a war, but their ruler had also issued a declaration that this was to be an all-out war, and she remained firm about it. As a result, every room within the castle had some symbol that the war was occurring, whether from the people who had departed for the war or from the magic training that became even more dedicated to the art of combat.

Every room but one. From this one room only a strange noise could be heard.

"_Nobody knows the troubles I've seen_

_Nobody knows my sorrow."_

For Derflinger was being driven out of its mind. It was used to being abandoned. For about the 6000 years of its existence, it guessed that it had only been wield by a true swordsmen for less than two hundred of those years. The rest of that time had consisted of lying around, whether in dusty sword shops, on travelling caravans, or out on some battlefield.

But he had thought the minute that man picked up with the runes picked him up that this was it, the big moment, the chance he had been waiting for. And his partner, girlfriend, whatever, was likely a Void Mage! It would have been just like the good old days with Brimir and Sasha! Perhaps the three would have engaged on thrilling adventures where the man would protect the girl, the two would fall in love, and meanwhile the man and he, Derflinger, could engage in all sorts of perverted shenanigans.

Nope.

"_Nobody knows the troubles I've seen_

_Glory, hallelujah!"_

So, lacking anything better to do, he sang. He actually didn't know how he knew this song, but he did somehow. Maybe the guy who had taught him this song had wielded him at one point. He didn't remember. So many things, so many faces he had forgotten over the course of his 6000 year life.

Then as he continued to sing, the door opened. Assuming that Louise and Napoleon had come home, he began to think of yelling at them for abandoning them like that, only to stop. It wasn't the two. A blue-haired girl stood in their place. She had managed to open it somehow even with one hand holding a giant staff and the other carrying a book. She looked around for the moment, as if she was trying to figure out the location of the sound.

"Oi, oi, I'm over here!"

Derflinger jumped up and down as well as a sword could, and the girl looked at her. She didn't emit any surprise, which from Derflinger's point of view, was pretty impressive.

"Loud."

Now she said something, which the sword could barely hear even in its quiet room.

"Oh, right. I guess that happened. Hey, do you know where Louise and her partner are?"

"Partner?"

Derflinger jumped up and down some at that inquiry.

"Fine, her familiar. Man who wears some military uniform. You're a student here, I'm sure you've seen him before?"

The girl nodded in response.

"Valliere home."

Well, that sucked, Derflinger thought. He had heard through conversations past the door that a war had occurred between Tristain and Albion, but he should have known they would do something about it. Especially his partner, the one who was supposed to use him but never did. Well, if the alternative was to sit around unused again for whoever knew how long…

As he was no longer singing, the girl made to leave, but then was stopped by a shout by Derflinger.

"Hey, girl! What's your name?"

"Tabitha."

Without even turning around, she once again made to leave before being interrupted.

"No, what's your real name?"

She turned around, her face only barely concealing her surprise.

"Hah, it doesn't matter. But hey, girl, you're a pretty skilled fighter, aren't you? I can tell."

"Chevalier."

Derflinger inwardly cackled with glee at those words. A Chevalier? Those were knights who could only earn their title through some great and brave service towards Tristain. It was one of the few ranks in the country that could not be brought or inherited, only earned. If she truly possessed that rank, then this young girl was definitely talented.

"Well, I don't know where my partner is, so why don't you take me along? It's sure better than being stuck in this empty room. Sure, you may not know much about swords, but I can teach you! If you see Louise again, you can simply give me back. How about it?"

Tabitha said nothing for a bit, though she hadn't been paying attention to her book for a while. After thinking for a long while about something, she slowly moved forward, drew Derflinger, and looked at the blade. Then resting her staff against her shoulder, she picked up the sheath and put the blade back in, somehow carrying the staff, the book, and what appeared to be a new weapon for her.

"Alright, thanks a lot, new partner! So where are we going? Is there anyone else there?"

"Roommate left. Germania."

"Ah well. Glad to be working with you, miss…"

He stopped as if he had forgotten her name, but both the sword and the girl knew that he hadn't. He was waiting. Tabitha stopped, lowered the book, and then looked all over the place to see if anyone else was else around. She then spoke her real name, the name which had been stolen from her and which no one within this Academy knew about.

"Charlotte Helene Orleans De Gallia."

…

Both of the moons were clear tonight in the night sky. Napoleon looked out on them as he stood in one of the gardens of the Valliere family. It truly was an impressive sight, a garden that would have been worthy of perhaps his own palaces, or that of the king Louis XIV at Versailles. This well-trimmed, well-manicured garden with a stone fountain drizzling water in the distance had caused him for the first time to actually think about his own world, his France, his Empire, and his defeat. Or perhaps it was just the coffee that was preventing him from properly sleeping in the garden like had originally been his intention. Still, even though he obviously had zero intention of returning back to his world, he wondered if he did miss certain elements of it besides simply being an Emperor. In this world where no one knew exactly everything he had accomplished, what did it even mean to be Napoleon Bonaparte?

It was a foolish question. He knew the answer. He had always known the answer. It was to seek his absolute destiny among the stars, to pursue a dream of power and conquest. It was for the betterment of the people, of course. They would know true liberty under his rule, a perfect balance of the conflicting ideas of liberty and order. That was what he had to do while he was in this land.

A footstep sunk down in the gravel behind him, and Napoleon guessed from the general lack of daintiness in the step who it was behind him. Without bothering to look at her, he gave a greeting.

"Good evening, Eleanor."

The blonde-haired woman walked up beside him.

"Good evening, Napoleon."

"You've had enough of my partner?"

She stiffened up at those words, though remained silent. What was she doing here anyways, Napoleon wondered?

"Louise is with Cattleya. I'm sure you know she enjoys her more anyways."

"What a surprise."

"I appreciate the sarcasm, Napoleon, but I have something I want to talk to you about. You will be talking to mother about taking Louise to the war?"

"Of course."

"Why? Why do you need her?"

He turned to her. Eleanor was looking up at the moon, visibly determined not to look at him. It didn't keep out how she was wavering.

"I may treat her rough, but I know she's changed. I can tell she's stronger, Napoleon. She's no longer truly afraid of me."

"I beg to differ."

"You don't understand!"

She shouted those words and then wheeled on Napoleon, with the two facing each other in the moonlight.

"I pulled all sorts of ridiculous things on her the entire way there, a trip of over three days. And she never gave in. She kept resisting me, whether it was just tugging at my own hair somehow or screaming when I pulled her. She never did that before. In the past, she would stop doing anything. She would just accept her cheeks being pulled without saying a word after a while. But she's changed, almost if she's no longer my little sister."

"So you do love her after all."

"I have every right to be concerned about her if you're going to drag her off to a war."

"I'm not."

"What?"

He sighed in response, turning away from Henrietta as he walked down to the garden.

"Your sister always had that will, Eleanor. She just never showed it to you. If she didn't want to go to this war, even I wouldn't be able to persuade her. But if she was the kind who wouldn't be willing to fight for her country, I never would have accepted her as a partner to begin with.

She will go out of her own free will, out of her desire to serve her friend and her country. We will attempt to persuade her parents tomorrow, but even if she doesn't, we'll still go. It will be Louise's wish if she fights in this war, not mine."

He finished his talk and looked at Eleanor. The blonde-haired girl looked at him and nodded her head vigorously several times.

"I see. You pass."

He tilted his head in surprise.

"What do you mean?"

Eleanor looked at the castle.

"I don't know how Cattleya found out, but mother has no intention of having a conversation with you and Louise. Apparently she told one of the servants that you are to be trapped in the tower."

Napoleon gave no reaction to those words, only asking one question.

"Does Cattleya know if this was her idea?"

"She apparently received a letter last night, but I don't know from whom."

Further silence. Eleanor wondered if he was all right. To hear that the Duchess, someone whom he did appear to respect, was intending to make such a move surely must be a great shock to him. But he spoke after a while, though Eleanor was unsure whom he was addressing.

"It doesn't matter in the greater scheme of things. All it changes is the priority."

Then he turned towards Eleanor.

"Why are you helping? You don't trust me."

"I don't. But like I said, you passed. If you had told me that Louise was so important that she had to go for the sake of Tristain or something like that, I wouldn't have helped you. It would have shown that you valued Tristain over Louise, and I would never trust my sister with someone like that.

You believe that Louise's decision to fight must come from her. I'm scared, Napoleon. I'm scared for what will happen to my sister. But it's her decision. If she wants to fight in Tristain, I believe she can."

There was someone running in the courtyard. Napoleon looked back, and recognized it as Cattleya. She was carrying a sleeping Louise in her arms and ran up to the two before stopping.

"Good to see you Napoleon. I believe that Eleanor's told you about the plan?"

Napoleon moved forward and took the sleeping girl in his grasp before he shook his head.

"No, not yet. So the two of us are escaping the manor?"

Cattleya smiled and attempted to answer, only to be interrupted by a hacking cough. She lurched forward and continued while Eleanor ran up to her sister, steadying her. Napoleon observed that a few spots of blood came out during the attack, and a small grimace ran through him.

Louise, however, barely stirred from the noise, only giving a small mumble. Cattleya eventually recovered and moved upright, her older sister nervously watching her.

"Are you alright, Cattleya? You really should rest."

The younger sister brushed herself off with an "I'm fine" and addressed Napoleon.

"Head through those bushes. You can reach the main gate through there. There'll be a carriage waiting for you there for your escape. But Napoleon?"

Not being able to grasp his hands which were holding Louise, Cattleya instead grabbed his cheeks. Even someone like him couldn't help but blush slightly at her action, but the serious expression on Cattleya's face belied any frivolous intentions.

"Promise me, Napoleon. Promise me that you will fight for Louise to the very end."

The Emperor blinked in surprise, and then gave a soft laugh.

"I promise. I will serve Louise to the very end and as for long as I can, Cattleya."

Breaking himself out of the girl's grasp, he shifted Louise onto her back and made for the bushes. As he began to struggle, he heard the voices of both sisters cry out.

"May the Founder's Divine Protection be with you and Louise!"

Napoleon gave no verbal response to their farewells as he kicked his way through, grateful of what a deep sleeper Louise was. He knew that when he got to that carriage and then to Tristania, that the wrath of a thousand suns would fall upon all of those incompetent buffoons in their military. De Poitiers wanted a war with him? He would get one he would never believe that humans could wage.

…

As the carriage flew off, Karin watched through the window, her hand clutching a recently arrived letter. She had known, of course. Cattleya, as weak and frail as she liked to portray herself, was way too sly for her own good. Did she seriously think that Karin couldn't tell that an owl had been watching the Duchess in the study for the past few minutes?

Jerome, the proud butler of the Valliere family, stood waiting in attention. But he couldn't help but ask a question.

"Was it really for the best to let them escape?"

"De Poitiers may be a friend, but he should know that friendship has its limits. His hatred for the Emperor, as merited as it is, has completely blinded him. He dared to tell me that I should imprison my daughter and her familiar and also chose to tell me that it was for the good of Tristain while acting like I'm too stupid to realize that it's nothing more than an obvious political ploy. Honestly, he will never acknowledge it, but aside from his family pedigree, he's no better than the Emperor, and he is worse in many ways."

There was a lot more than that to Karin's decision, and Jerome knew it. But there was nothing more to be said about that topic.

"Anyways, Jerome, don't you have a guest to show in for me?"

The butler bowed respectfully and left the library for a moment. Karin looked at a bottle that stood on a nearby desk. It was a bottle which she had imported from Rub al Khail. Even for a noble of high rank as herself, this was a luxury; a new product which had only came into the finest merchants about three years ago. The foreigners called it absinthe.

Pouring a small glass, she downed it in a gulp and felt herself warm up. A tinkling of a bell indicated that Jerome had returned, as he escorted the guest along. He seemed nervous and awed, not even attempting to even hide his wonder at the wonder as he looked up at the piles of books. As he continued to look, Karin decided to welcome his guest.

"Welcome. I'm sure you have travelled a long way, little boy. Now ... Pierre was your name, was it not?"


	23. The Hanged Man: Chapter 11

"_My most splendid campaign was that of March 20; not a single shot was fired."_

_Napoleon Bonaparte_

...

…

In the main hall of the Tristanian palace, a group of about fifteen men were gathered. They were generals and dukes, the high military elite of Tristain, their fancy clothes covered in a red cloak which was a symbol of their great authority. Yet none of them, no matter how renowned they were either in combat or in their family histories, could compare to the Princess who sat on her throne, listening to them talk to one another without saying a word herself. The exiled Prince of Wales stood at attention to her left. While neither one said a word or even looked at one another, his right hand sometimes swayed slightly towards her cheek without actually touching. There was no one else in the room. Given how highly important these topics of discussions were, the servants had been escorted out and the doors barred to prevent even the slightest chance of Albion espionage in the room.

As the generals continued to talk to one another on a wide variety of subjects which did not necessarily have to deal with military affairs, Henrietta quietly signaled one of them to come by her side. De Poitiers strode over and bowed as the princess raised her head to his ear and whispered.

"Have you managed to secure news on releasing Louise and Napoleon?"

De Poitiers shook his head.

"I'm sure you know that they were taken by the eldest Valliere about twelve days ago. There is no doubt that they are at the Valliere estate. I have sent a messenger asking for their release."

It wasn't a lie, the general told himself. A proud nobleman like himself would never lie to his ruler, and he had sent two messages to the Valliere family. It was just that one message was sent upon a fine rider and horse who had been told to urgently deliver his message to the Duchess de Valliere, while the other was given to a drunken farmer atop his cart who promised that he would be in Valliere lands sometimes and would try to give the message at that point. It did not need to be said which one was the letter asking for Louise's release, and which one was the one pointing out that it was probably for the best that such a powerful Void mage should be locked up for the security of all of Tristain. Either way, so far it appeared that things were going smoothly for De Poitiers. The fact that Napoleon had made no move in the past few days and was most likely still stuck in the Valliere estate really was heartening news from his perspective. Now proper Tristain nobility could run war in the right way, without the interference of little captains who knew nothing about how one was supposed to conduct war with dignity and honor.

But he mentioned nothing of that to Henrietta and the princess took him at his word. De Poitiers left to join the other generals, and for a few more moments the scene continued as usual, with the princess in deep thought and her eyes closed. Eventually, she opened both of them and slowly rose out of her throne. Seeing their ruler's actions, every general instantly turned towards Henrietta and bowed. As she waved her hand and indicated them to stand up, she inwardly grimaced. She still couldn't like how they scraped and performed these little gestures in front of her all these years, though she then admonished herself by pointing out that it was what a sovereign had to expect. Not wanting to continue the inward conversation, she ended it by pointing at a map on a nearby table.

"So, my generals, will you kindly tell me what our future strategy against Albion is?"

A small, shriveled man saluted in response to the princess's question.

"We may have obtained a great victory against Albion at La Rochelle, but the fact is that Albion's fleet is still superior to ours. The enemy has been undergoing chaos in the region as there have been uprisings in the aftermath of such a stunning defeat on their part, and the resulting infighting has actually caused the destruction of a few more of their ships from rebel attacks and magic. However, while our Air Fleet actually slightly outnumbers that of Albion's, their more experienced and better equipped ships are more than capable of making up for that small deficit in numbers. We would need complete supremacy in the air to actually launch an invasion of the White Continent itself, which is something we simply do not possess and will likely not grasp in the near future.

Because an invasion is so unlikely, a blockade is the best course of action. We will avoid battle with the Albion fleet and attempt to pick off their ships one at a time if they embark on any raids of Tristain. But in the meantime, we will limit their trade and attempt to starve them to death. I know you've already told us about what happened with Germania."

"Thank you, General Wimpffen."

She nodded in acknowledgement about what he had said. She had received a report a couple days ago from Germania. Their Diet had finally come to the conclusion which everyone in Helgekinia knew they would take. They would not be helping Tristain in the war militarily, ostensibly out of concerns of support for the war within their country, but really because they did not believe that Tristain was in any actual threat of being conquered in light of their victory. However, to the surprise of the princess, they had promised to cease all trade with Albion for the duration of the conflict, which would be necessary for a blockade to occur.

The country of Gallia, on the other hand, was a very enigmatic story. Upon hearing about the Albion declaration of war, it had issued a strict proclamation of neutrality and had said nothing since then. Still, it was the only country in Helgekinia which had actually chosen to recognize the Reconquista government as the legitimate ruler of Albion. Tristain had at this point completely thrown its support behind the exiled Prince, while Germania in its deliberate slowness had said nothing on such an issue. Henrietta at this point really had no idea what the country was after at this point in time.

Because of the problems and the need to depend on other countries, Henrietta couldn't help but worry about such a plan. Consequently, she posed a question to her general.

"Can you be sure that a blockade will work?"

After several seconds, De Poitiers gave a long, slow nod.

"Well, there's the matter of Gallia. I'm afraid that is something that can't be left to us military officers. Princess, you'll probably have to talk to His Majesty Joseph of Gallia and see if he can't be persuaded to join in the blockade."

He gave an ear to ear grin to his ruler, but Henrietta had a far-away expression and was clearly thinking of something else. After looking at her face for a bit, De Poitiers turned to the other generals.

"Well, for now, make sure the soldiers are in tip-top shape. This will be a long campaign where we seek to wear down rather than invade Albion. We'll have to make sure the army really is ready for such a long campaign where there won't be a lot of fighting, so preparation will be necessary. I believe that will be all."

And with those words and a final gesture from the leading officer, the rest of the generals were dismissed. Clicking their heels together, these noblemen all saluted each other, and then turned to their princess. Henrietta gave no reaction to the gesture. She continued to gaze into space while looking at the map, acting as if no one else was in the room. After a few moments, the Prince of Wales gave a small cough, which caused Henrietta to start, then to hastily jump up and return the salute. With the gesture completed, the men made to leave for the double doors. Some of the generals couldn't help themselves, and whispered to one another about the state of the princess.

"Is she all right?"

"The city of La Rochelle was just destroyed, we should probably leave her be."

"It's her job to stop Gallia from trading with Albion."

"I'll admit I'm concerned about that prince."

"That's true."

The men continued their whispered conversation as they waited for the doors to be unbarred. De Poitiers stood at the head of the group as the doors swung forward, and gave a sigh of contentment as he saw sunlight streaming in. But after a moment, he realized that there was a group of people waiting outside the door.

"A pleasure to meet you, General De Poitiers. I'm as happy to see you as no doubt you are to see me."

Napoleon stood in front of De Poitiers and the rest of the noble officers. His hands were behind his back and his hat was on his head. His partner, the pink-haired Void mage, stood behind him with her arms crossed in front of her and a wand prominently sticking out.

But they weren't alone. There was a group of about 10 or so men behind him. One held a wand, but about five more carried what appeared to be muskets. What was noticeable was that the tips of the barrels gleamed with a shiny metal stick that was wrapped around the guns. The rest of the men behind Napoleon did not hold any weapons, but were instead holding various writing and drawing materials.

Napoleon tilted his head and gave off a friendly smile, yet the back of De Poitiers's head erupted in a cold sweat at the gesture. As the leading commander stammered, the other generals stared in confusion. Some of them seemed to recognize him, whether from De Poitier's reports or from those pamphlets from Giono which had been plastered throughout all of Tristania. But the rest gave a reaction of befuddlement to shock upon seeing a man in a military uniform standing in the doorway to the throne room, with soldiers and other men, not to mention a young girl, behind him.

De Poitiers was in fact just stunned. How had he and his partner escaped the Duchess? How did they expect to avoid her wrath? The girl, the Void mage, was clearly wearing a look of determination, but she wasn't looking at De Poitiers, or any of the generals. Her eyes were past them, at the other girl sitting in the end of the throne room, a young man standing beside her.

Then Napoleon moved forward and the Void mage followed him. The group of soldiers accompanied them, but as they moved forward, one of the other nobles finally shouted out.

"Oi, you! What do you think, letting armed soldiers into the main hall?"

The two at the front stopped. Napoleon turned and looked on the nobleman, who couldn't help but take a step back for some reason.

"You're carrying a wand. I have a sword at my side. What's the problem with letting weapons in?"

"Why you! Those are commoners! You can't allow commoners to carry weapons in!"

The general left it unsaid, but the fact that it was not mentioned made it all the more obvious. He had called the soldiers following the Louise and Napoleon commoners, but he had not called Napoleon himself a commoner. The Emperor's arrogant and regal air precluded such accusations. De Poitiers realized that he likely was the only one in the group of generals who actually knew that man's social status.

"These men are my military retinue. They accompany and guard my safety wherever they go. And they answer to only Henrietta and me. She has not voiced any objections to my bringing my men here, so I say that they will move forward."

"What?"

The general who had spoken flared up at Napoleon's declaration.

"Who do you think you are, you… you…"

The general hesitated as he realized that he didn't really know who the man in front of him was, and his lack of knowledge only served to increase his frustration and desire to lash out at Napoleon. As he continued the cycle of sputtering rage, De Poitiers took the moment to speak to Napoleon, his voice laced with false insincerity.

"Captain Napoleon. It is good to see that you have returned from your long and relaxing wartime vacation. However, there's really nothing more to discuss. We have already with Princess Henrietta decided what our basis of strategy here, so there's really nothing for you to do. Now why don't you go home like a good little soldier?"

"Don't talk to Napoleon like that!"

Louise this time was the one gave a shout at the disrespect towards her partner, but Napoleon's next words overrode her shrill scream.

"You're not planning to invade Albion. You're planning a military blockade, and are counting on Princess Henrietta to successfully negotiate with Germania and Gallia to implement this blockade. If I am not wrong, that is your strategy, correct?."

De Poitiers's face flushed with shock and rage at his words, as did most of the other generals.

"How did you know? You couldn't have overheard us through these thick doors!"

His next words were spluttered out, but Napoleon gave no surprise at their reaction.

"I didn't know for certain, but I had good reason to believe that would be the plan. It's the kind of strategy you would propose, De Poitiers. Conservative. Timid. Shifting responsibility on Her Majesty as she has to make the strategy work while you sit around."

The general's face flushed beet red at his words, and he lunged forward, only for one of the soldiers behind Napoleon to move forward and act as a shield between the Emperor and De Poitiers. He was a large man, with a great scar across his cheek, and he held his musket between the De Poitiers and himself.

"What the-!"

"Stand down, Foucard!"

Napoleon gave a shout, and the solder instantly gave way. De Poitiers moved forward, and the two physically confronted one another.

"So, tell me then, _captain_. What is the bold and brilliant strategy you would use to take out the Albion fleet?"

Napoleon disengaged himself without a word and turned his back to the general. He took a few steps back, away from De Poitiers and towards Henrietta. The princess had remained silent, but was looking at Napoleon with interest. Almost as if he was putting on some form of show, the Emperor turned back towards De Poitiers, giving a small smile.

"What fleet?"

…

_Three Days Earlier_

Captain Jennings fretted atop the one of the newly-designated command ships, the _Yorktown_. The disaster at La Rochelle and the death of so many Albion senior officers, most noticeably the commander Bowood, had meant that many of the junior officers had received rapid promotion. However, as many were them were just filling in for the roles of the senior officers, they weren't necessarily ready for the new responsibilities which were ladled on them, and Jennings was a prime example. He honestly at this point sincerely wished that the enemy fleet didn't make a move. They had been quiet since the beginning of the war due to Albion's vast superiority, but now with about two-thirds of the fleet annihilated at La Rochelle, who knew what could possibly change?

He gazed in the south-west direction, even as he knew that it was futile. The Albion government's initial response to the disaster at La Rochelle had been to ground all of the remaining ships, but it had finally changed. The initial deployment of the Tristanian navy at the beginning of the war had been to split their 180 ships into three groups of sixty, and then combine and overwhelm Tristain's navy if they ever came out of their ports. But with two of the groups completely annihilated at La Rochelle, the decision had been made to only split the remaining forces in two. Splitting up the fleet any further risked that they would be destroyed separately as they embarked upon their mission of destroying the Albion countryside, and while thirty Albion ships would likely be in serious trouble if it was confronted with the entire Tristain navy, it could probably hold long enough for the other group to arrive and help. They had moved as one force until they reached Tristain, and had then split up. Jennings knew that the other fleet was about 50 miles to the southwest, but that was a distance at which communication would become difficult.

To make things worse, the commander of the other fleet was a hot-headed rascal named Cotswold. While the two commanders were expected to be equals and work together, Cotswold had shown no inclination to do such a thing. He was fanatically devoted to the new regime, and when the two had been assigned command, he had cornered Jennings in a room and gave him a long interrogation about his loyalty. It had become a great nuisance. Honestly, Jennings just wanted to go back to Albion. To his nice cozy house and a spot of tea and his wife and-

"Captain?"

Jennings jumped slightly as his train of thought was interrupted. He looked behind him to see that a messenger was standing at attention behind him, clutching a sheaf of paper in one hand.

"Pardon me sir, but about half an hour ago, one of the ships received this message. Apparently a parrot flew up here screeching for the leader, so I believe this is for you."

The messenger held out the sheaf of paper and Jennings took it. He slowly began to read, and then as he looked over the contents, his eyes moved faster and faster as it went down the pages.

_To the commander of the remaining Albion Fleet._

_It would not do to begin without introducing myself, so I shall. I am Napoleon Bonaparte, a high-ranking military figure within the Tristanian Army. I serve only Her Majesty Henrietta de Tristain and my partner Louise Francoise le Blanc de la Valliere. I should also state before I say any more that I have been informed that your fleet has split in two, and thus you should know that the captain of the other fleet has also received this message._

_I have come to deliver you a warning. The same Holy Light that destroyed the greater part of your Air Fleet will descend upon you within 30 minutes of you receiving this letter. As it has already destroyed over 100 Albion ships at La Rochelle, I'm sure you know what it will do to your group of approximately thirty ships._

_I am not without mercy, and will brook surrender. If you choose that option, you are to descend from where you are, and you will be taken to custody by my soldiers and will be treated as honorable prisoners of war. I swear this upon my partner's honor as well as my own._

_However, it should be noted that this offer will apply only to the group of ships which surrenders first. Upon receiving the surrender of one group of ships, the other portion of your fleet will immediately be destroyed by the Holy Light. 30 minutes is not enough time for you to properly communicate with the other group, so the decision will be left up to you, Captain, and you alone. Stay up here, and be destroyed by the same light which has already destroyed most of your fleet without any prospects of glory or honor. Or come down, and become honorable prisoners of war._

_I leave the decision up to you._

_Napoleon Bonaparte_

_P.S. Kill the bird and I will treat it as a refusal of the terms of surrender, with the aforementioned consequences_

Jennings's hands shook as he finished reading the letter, but then he spoke to the messenger.

"The bird, where is it!"

"Sir, it's up at the top of the ship, watching us."

Jennings tensed upon hearing that. He had wondered how the writer of this letter, this Napoleon, would know that he had 30 minutes to begin with. No doubt the bird was watching and functioning as a timer. And if Jennings attempted to disrupt that timer…

It could be a bluff. As an officer, he had obviously heard about the Holy Light, but no explanation had ever been given to him about what it was exactly. Was it possible that it really was some new weapon, a new magic devised by Tristain? But how would they keep something so powerful so secret for such a long period of time? Such a powerful thing must have taken years to develop, and news should have leaked out about it eventually. It was impossible. But if it was impossible, then what was the Light?

And Cotswold? Could he really trust him? The man was a braggart, but wasn't it braggarts who are the first to flee in times of combat? Maybe he was already moving? What was he to do?

…

Napoleon sat on a plateau in northwest Tristain. It had been a strenuous seven days even for him. After getting out of the Duchess's castle, he had then made the decision to sneak back to Tristania and fetch his Guard. They had been busy training without his supervision, something which impressed him. Ever since the battle at La Rochelle, he had managed to obtain new muskets for each and every member of his soldiers, and had also commissioned a blacksmith with his own money to create bayonets for every one of the muskets. Tristain had yet to develop the simple yet highly effective weapon that made the pikes they depended on completely obsolete.

He had had only time to really fit them all out before he was distracted by the antics of his partner's family, but his soldiers took to the weapon willingly, even though most of them had carried melee weapons in the past. Why would anyone want to wield a long and clumsy pike as opposed to a shorter weapon which could fire bullets and function as a spear, after all? Consequently, they attempted to learn. Most of them had still not understood how to fire the weapon yet, but it would come down quickly, and using the bayonet was simple and second-nature for most of them.

Unfortunately, while he would have loved to finish his training with them, there was no time as his plan needed to be implemented quickly. After reuniting with them in Tristain, he had quickly moved them out, and he marched north with his men as well as his partner. His intention had been to find the Albion ships as quickly as possible and relay his ultimatum.

And now he had. Now all there was to do for his men was to wait as they lazily sat upon the grass. Some fiddled with their guns, some munched on some food which they had obtained from the peasantry, some just waited and chatted. Martin, who by this time had become the default second-in –command of the Guard, waited besides Napoleon at the front along with Louise. The wind mage couldn't help but ask upon hearing what Napoleon had done.

"Do you actually think this will work, captain?"

Napoleon was munching on an apple. He chewed thoughtfully before answering.

"I honestly don't know. Still, it can't hurt to try. If it works, we can knock Albion permanently out of the war after all, so it's worth a shot."

"But she can't use Explosion right now, can she?"

Louise shot daggers at those words. She still remained not completely friendly towards the mercenary mage, but the truth was the truth. Apparently she remained unable to cast a single Void spell. From what she had told Napoleon, spells ran basically on the willpower of the mage. It was possible that she had stored huge amounts of power as she had never casted a Void Spell before, and then used a large chunk or even all of it upon casting two Explosions over the course of the battle. And she had no idea when she would recover that willpower. Perhaps it could be a week, a year, maybe even fifteen years, as long as she had lived.

All the same, Napoleon finished the apple and tossed the core on the grass before he responded.

"It's for that reason that we had to hurry. The sooner I used this move, the better their memories and notes of the Holy Light will be. This means that there will be a greater chance they accept."

Martin still looked concerned, but then there was a sound of thunder behind the small group.

"What in Brimir's name?"

The three of them looked back, only for Martin to groan and Napoleon's expression to become even more impassive. One of the soldiers had apparently been fooling around with his musket, and had then dropped it. It had fired into the sky, though fortunately no one was injured.

"That's the fourth time now since they've received the guns," Martin mumbled. "Am I going to have to cast a levitation spell on a bunch of weapons?"

Napoleon didn't say a word, but then stood up.

"Attention!"

The soldiers looked up, but then moved to form the proper ranks. However, it was a disorderly and inefficient process. They bumped into one another, cursed each other out due to the jostling, but they eventually formed a closed-order formation. Napoleon clicked his tongue in irritation. It wasn't fast enough, but it would do for the moment.

"You will be staying in this formation until we have the first group of surrendering ships. Do you understand?"

There was no response, but the men kept their ranks. Good.

20 minutes later, the first group of ships touched down, and it was followed five minutes later by the second group. The first group of ships was led by a man named Cotswold, and the man had pointed at the second group of ships and wondered why Napoleon chose not to use the Holy Light upon them. The only response that the commander received was a slap from Martin, who sternly lectured Cotswold on the necessity to treat all who surrendered to Tristain and to their leader with the utmost dignity.

As Martin lectured and Napoleon watched the second group of men stream out of their ships, it took the utmost effort for him to suppress his cackle of glee. He had managed with one letter to take out the rest of the Albion Navy and give the go-ahead for the invasion of the country of Albion. This was something far greater than what had happened at La Rochelle. Unlike before, the credit could go to him alone. Oh, how he would rub it in De Poitiers's face.

…

And so he did. De Poitiers's face turned even redder upon hearing the tale Napoleon described, while even Henrietta and the Prince of Wales simply gaped in shock.

"S-so the rest of the Albion Navy…"

"They're marching to Tristania without their ships as they speak. About 7500 men, escorted by the approximately 50 men of my Guards. I do believe every single one of them will deserve a medal and a reward for their efforts in such a momentous victory."

De Poitiers said nothing to those words. Napoleon's story represented a massive shift in the power dynamics within the Tristanian military. Every one of the generals was a man of great power and lineage. But here before them all was someone who had outshone all of them combined, who had destroyed a fleet with a letter. He was someone to be respected, listened to, and perhaps even followed.

But the generals to a man inwardly refused to accept it. They barely knew him. How could this person, this foreigner do such a thing? Did he have no respect for the old, traditional authorities? What would become of the social order if a man like him could just cut through the traditions and laws like this captain had already done?

But not one member of the groups of officers said something to deny him. There was something which after what he had just done that compelled them not to do such a thing. Napoleon turned to the rest of his group, and signaled to all of them but Louise to stay behind. Saluting in response, the soldiers formed a rigid line as they stood at attention. Napoleon and Louise walked towards Princess Henrietta and then both bowed respectfully to her.

"Princess, there will be no need to negotiate with any state for Tristain to grasp its own future. Please give the command for the invasion of Albion."

…

In Albion, in the dungeons of the Howland Palace, Fouquet idly played with a mouse in the dungeon. By her count, it had been somewhat over a month since she had been thrown in the dungeon on suspicions of being a traitor. Cromwell hadn't done anything to her since then, but it looked like she would be held here for quite a while longer. And without her wand, she had no means of escaping from this prison anyways, especially since she had no idea what time it actually was due to the lack of windows in this cell.

Still, she thought, it's not like she had any reason to leave for a while. She had received the commission for stealing the now useless Staff of Destruction before Wardes had done whatever h had done with it, and had sent most of it to the orphanage and to her half-sister. The money would make sure that the orphanage could be kept running without problems for quite a few months at the least. That said, she would like to head down there just to check on their safety when she did leave.

Meanwhile, she held a small chunk of stale bread in front of the mouse, which sniffed and then slowly took it. As it devoured the food, Fouquet laid back on the straw which had been provided to her as a bed.

The window grate to the cell door slid open, and a guard looked in.

"So, you feeling any better these days, pretty?"

Fouquet pointedly looked away from the soldier in response to his flirtations. Him again. He never gave up, did he?

"I'm fine. I don't need anything until I get out."

"Well, you know, girl, I could put in a good word for you. Talk about what a good little prisoner you are. All you would have to do is give me something in exchange."

"Oh, get out of here!"

Fouquet continued to look away, but her eyes showed her utter contempt for the lecherous guard, who took a step back.  
>"Well, you should know I can do the exact opposite. I can keep you here forever. Heck, you know there's nothing stopping me from walking in your cell in the middle of the night, you know?"<p>

No words came out of the cell, and Fouquet could hear the guard grumble.

"Fine, have it your way. But you won't be able to resist me forev – what?"

His tone abruptly changed into a shriek, and then a scream. Fouquet heard a whizzing sound, and then the sound of blood spraying out. The guard continued to scream for a bit longer, but it was promptly cut off by another whizz.

There was nothing then for a bit, and Fouquet didn't dare to look out. But then she heard the sounds of a set of key being jangled and slowly the cell door opened. Fouquet looked at who her rescuer was, and then laughed softly.

"Even after all that's happened to you, you still love to play the hero. Don't you, Wardes?"

The formerly ruggedly handsome Knight-Commander had lost all of that manly charm. The right side of his face was a scarred and burned wreck, and the lack of anything in the right sleeve of the uniform he was wearing was noticeable. But he grinned as well as he could with his ruined face.

"Of course I do. What kind of knight doesn't save the helpless princess trapped in the dungeon?"

"A knight who's a traitor? And one who chose to work for the side that's going to lose the war as well? You're not exactly the smartest traitor, either."

"I told you Fouquet. Who said I was allied with Albion?"

Fouquet stood up from her cell in response to his words and dusted herself off. Then she sarcastically curtsied before him.

"Very well, my knight. Which country will we be heading to then?"


	24. The Hanged Man: Chapter 12

"_Those whom the Gods would destroy, they first make proud."_

…

…

"Ram!"

Under the hot sun on a parade ground in Tristania, Napoleon was barking out orders. The soldiers under his command quickly attempted to follow his exacting orders as fast as they could. From a small tube on their muskets, they pulled their ramrods and stuffed powder and bullets down the barrel of their guns.

Of course, these men were no longer soldiers. They were now Guards. The official citation by Princess Henrietta would be given later this week, but after that they would formally become the 1st Imperial Guards. The other generals had proposed different titles for this division, but Napoleon had insisted on this name. They would be called the Imperial Guard, soldier whose loyalty was not to any general, but to only the Princess of Tristain and to their leader. Napoleon did know that their loyalty to the former outclassed their loyalty to him, but it was not something which overly concerned him. They were devoted to him, and that was all he asked for now.

"Arms!"

The Guardsmen now drew their weapons up, the butt of the gun resting against their shoulders.

"Aim!"

Now they looked along the barrel, their fingers upon the trigger and waiting for the final command.

"Fire!"

And as the sound of a volley of muskets crackled, Louise couldn't help but jump. It didn't matter that Napoleon had been drilling the guards all morning and that she had been accompanying him for the entire time. Every time they fired, she reacted. She just couldn't get used to the noise, especially since the constant volleys distracted her from reading the Prayer Book which she had kept ever since the battle at Tarbes. Even though she still couldn't cast Void Magic yet, there was nothing stopping her from trying to learn any more. But while the Guards were clearly becoming more efficient in their movements with their weapons, her annoyed expression and grit teeth showed all the success she was having.

Napoleon in the meantime closed a watch he was holding and put it in his pocket. Then he clapped his hands a few times, a smile on his face.

"It's a good start. 43 seconds between volleys, and completely unified this time around. Martin, you actually figured out how to work it this time?"

The wind mage grumbled at Napoleon's words. His face which he took so much time to polish for the ladies was now covered in soot from repeatedly firing his musket. Still, thought most of the soldiers next to him, they were lucky. They had honestly expected given how poorly he was treating the gun that it would misfire and explode in their faces. Even the other mage in their group hadn't as much trouble, though he had been pretty bad. Those whom had once lived in nobility had never learned anything about using what was a weapon given out to commoners

"I'm a wind mage, Bonaparte. What am I doing using a gun anyways?"

"You mean you can't foresee a situation when you may be using these weapons?"

"Of course not? I can get away using Speed! I have magic!"

"And what happens when you're defending a point you can't leave?"

Martin grumbled in response and looked down the ground, and Napoleon chose to continue.

"And that's not all there is to it, Martin. You are a member of the 1st Imperial Guards. Every single of you men will work together, will fight together, and will die together. I told every single one of you men on the day I was assigned command to all of you. Your days as glorious mercenaries, fighting individually for your own glory and plunder, are over. You will become one unit, prepared to fight for your honor as well as Tristain. Through discipline, you fifty men through your work will become the equal of a thousand.

I expect nothing less from any of you, and thus I expect every man here to learn how to use a weapon as simple as a musket, Martin. No man, no matter his rank, is so high that he can't learn how to use this gun."

"At least raise my pay so I can buy proper supplies. How's a man this dirty supposed to get girls worthy of my beauty?"

It was a ridiculous complaint, but the tone was not serious in the slightest, something which Napoleon was used to from the Old Guard in Europe. And the soldier next to Martin clapped him around the shoulder, his whiskers bristling as he grinned ear to ear. Napoleon knew his name as Rogier, a soldier whom liked his ballads even though he really couldn't sing.

"You know Martin, given how successful you are at actually getting them in your bed, you might try to looking like the rest of us commoners. What kind of lady would want to sleep with another woman like you anyways?"

The rest of the soldiers roared with laughter, and Martin was helplessly reduced to punching Rogier in the shoulder even as he couldn't suppress the small grin on his face. As the noise subsided, Napoleon finally took the moment to speak up and give the final orders for the day.

"Well, we're done with musket training for now, but time for the most important part, using the bayonet and forming proper formations. When I blow this whistle, you will form up in the ranks I tell you to. Understand?"

There was no sound at first, but it was an acknowledgment of their approval. And the whistling actually could wait a bit. Napoleon raised his right hand in the air, and the rest of the men followed, their hands raised as they gave a great shout, the first of many that these men would chant on the parade ground and on the battlefield.

"Long Live Tristain! Long Live the Princess! Long Live Napoleon!"

They continued their chant, and Louise looked up from her book. Even though she had been there the whole time, she had said nothing all morning. And a worried look was in her eyes.

She realized it, though she said nothing. Ever since she had summoned him, this had been the first time she had seen him when he was truly, completely happy. He was enthused when he spoke with her. But now, in front of men who had not known him a month before but who were now enthusiastically chanting his name, he looked like he had been blessed with youth once more.

And as the men and Napoleon began their drills, Louise slipped out of the courtyard. Not a single man there gave an overt sign of recognition that the pink-haired girl who always accompanied Napoleon had left.

…

In Albion, a guard walked nervously up and down the corridors of the Howland Palace. Just last night, the captain Wardes, he whom had betrayed Tristain to join Albion, had apparently now betrayed Albion in turn. He had broken out of the hospital wing, killed several guards, and had broken out of the castle after springing forth an important prisoner. As a result, security within the palace had been drastically increased even though it was unlikely that he would return. The guard would be meeting up with a partner in ten minutes, and would continue to be doing so every fifteen minutes in order to assure that no one could sneak in and kill the Albion leaders. Still, the guard's pace was a little too quick and efficient, almost as if he wanted to get out of his patrol and away from potential enemies and to the safety of the nearby barracks.

As he passed down, he looked down at the paintings, then out at the window of the courtyard of the Howland Palace. It really was a beautiful building, but these days less and less people were walking down its halls. Perhaps the emptiness made it a bit more ominous, but his brain continued to work on overdrive. Maybe there was someone behind him? How did he not know that someone wasn't stalking him, preparing for a knife between his shoulders or a terrible fate like that? Wasn't the lone guard the one who was the first to die in stories like these?

CRASH

"What?"

The guard whirled around. There had been the noise of something falling, breaking. And it was above him. If he wasn't wrong…

"It's His Excellency's office!"

Grasping a whistle that was dangling around his neck, the guard blew into it and caused a sharp tweet to blow through the halls. Without even hesitating, he ran to where he knew the stairs were and dashed up it. If someone had snuck past them, he might be attempting to assassinate His Excellency! If only he could get there in time.

The guard continued running, and as he reached the door to Cromwell's office, he could see another guard heading towards the same destination from a different location. The two looked at each another, and quickly without a word determined on a course of action. Without even checking if the door was locked, the first guard kicked it down, with the second guard following him.

"Your Excellency!"

SMASH.

It was a perfect throw. The first guard crumpled to the ground instantly upon being hit in the face by an object, but the second guard rushed past him, concerned about the duty to protect their leader from his assailant. However, he stopped in surprise.

The office was a mess. Cromwell stood there, his posture severely bent over and a wineglass in his right hand. His left arm was forward, as if it had just thrown something. And indeed it had. Upon seeing the guards, the leader of Albion's gesture had been to throw a bottle of expensive champagne at the first who entered. Now seeing what a perfect throw it was, he gave a little giggle and lazily moved forward back to his desk, which had papers irregularly strewn everywhere.

"Oh dear, I made a little mistake, didn't I?"

The guard stared in response to Cromwell's words, only moving down to check on his fellow guard. But as he did so, another champagne bottle smashed the wall behind, causing glass fragments to explode everywhere.

"Your Excellency!"

Cromwell had now sat down at his desk and had grabbed another bottle. Waving it around, he roared at the guard.

"Get out of here, you scum! Get out, take that stupid fool with you and leave me alone!"

Not believing his eyes and ears, the guards fell back to his instincts which had taught him to obey. Besides, the first guard was bleeding heavily and needed medical care, and Cromwell was apparently physically fine. Hoisting the unconsciousness man up over his shoulder, the two left, though the door was probably closed with a little more force than necessary. Cromwell was too distracted trying to open a third bottle to notice anyways.

With a pop, liquid spurted out of the bottle, and now soaked the papers that were on his desk. Cromwell cursed for a moment, but then with dull eyes sank back into his chair. He only put his glass in the stream of liquid before he removed it and took a drink, and the bottle eventually petered out.

What did it matter anyways? He was finished. The Albion fleet was dead. The army was devastated. Tristain was infuriated. Germania was not friendly to a country which had attempted to kill its royals. Even if Gallia joined in and saved Albion as had been originally proposed, Joseph would no doubt have Albion pay handsomely for his aid. It would almost be better for the country if Tristain invaded it and just installed Wales back on the throne as opposed to making it a Gallian puppet state.

But what would happen to him then? No matter what, Cromwell knew, he was doomed. Either Wales came back and executed him or Gallia would save him and he would become Joseph's pet. There was no way around it, after all. The days of Cromwell as leader of Albion were over.

Was this what he had wanted? He thought back to that day in the bar. He had treated a beggar to a glass of wine, and had been asked what he desired.

"I want to be king."

That had been his response. It was a joke, he told himself, a silly joke to a silly beggar who had told Cromwell that he could grant any wish that the priest desired. But the next day a woman in purple had met him, and after some time of fighting and campaigning, here he was, in an office. Not necessarily a king, but a ruler. A ruler of one of the four great nations of Helgekinia. But now there was no joy, no happiness at his position. The only feeling that he had was fear. Fear of dying in humiliation, whether at the hands of Henrietta or Joseph.

Wishing that the fear would go away, he tilted the glass back and took a deep drink, draining it and slamming the glass on his desk. But the wine did not serve to make the fear go away, the terrible emotions he was feeling to vanish. But just then, Cromwell could hear people mumbling outside his office. Even as drunk as he was, he might as well go do something about it.

The ruler of Albion stood up and thought about what he would say, but then a glint caught his eye. He looked down, and saw that it came from his right hand, from the Ring which he had taken from that Water Spirit so long ago. Somehow, the sight and realization that he still held such a powerful magic cleared his mind and loosened the hold of the alcohol. No. He could still win. Maybe conquering Tristain was now out of the question. But as long as he could wage a defense, he could defend Albion with enough ferocity and cause a white peace, one where things would go back to where they were. And he still had a few ships left. While they could not stand up to Tristain's navy, they could still be used for other means.

He was doomed if he lost anyways. He might as well try anything possible if it meant the slightest chance that he could secure peace.

Peace. With that single word hammering in his skull, driving the liquor from his mind, he lurched to the door and opened it. A crowd of courtiers waited in front of him, but not the one he was looking for.

"Where is Sheffield? Bring her to me!"

The crowd looked and murmured among themselves. Cromwell could see that a mage was tending to the guard he had injured. But that didn't matter. What did one guard matter against his country?

"Bring her to me. NOW!"

…

"Come on, come on, move faster, will you, Neptune? Get the rest of the ink out of storeroom!"

"Yes sir!"

Andre Giono grumbled as one of his assistants rushed past him, carrying a stack of papers. There was so much work these days. Brimir knows, it was much better compared to his days of lounging about in cheap bars after what that cursed noble had done to him, but printing really had taken over his life. He had finished with his translation of _Don Quixote_ and had been hard at work printing enough copies in order to sell. His small shop would need to expand, and he had been looking at getting more equipment and supplies, as well as a few more rooms. His printing business was in a small house in the commoner quarters in Tristania, and he really needed more space.

There were the usual orders, of course. Wedding announcements, funeral announcements, the sorts of information which commoners always demanded. But Giono was at work attempting to deal with giving out the information in a more efficient manner. In the past, he had always just distributed pamphlets that were rarely more than a page. But in his correspondence with Napoleon, that military man had proposed creating what he called a "newspaper". It would be a document a couple pages in length, and once a week it could be sold to the public for a cheap price. It would contain all sorts of news, whether about Tristain, local news, or of course the war. No doubt, Giono observed, the people would like to know more about the war and about how well it was going.

Of course there was the problem that only about half of the commoners in the city could read. That was still relatively high compared to Tristania, but if Giono wanted to expand, perhaps he should offer reading classes. But getting teachers for that, and maybe paying a fee and…

"Arrgggghhh!"

Giono roared in irritation at how much he had to do, his hands gripping what was left of his white hair. But he knew despite how much he talked about his stress and what of left of his hair going away, he was in fact feeling pretty good. As he looked about his shop, with assistants running around and printing machines working, he felt right at home. And it was all because of a chance encounter in a cheap bar. Interesting what threads the fates wove.

"Oi, Boss!"

Giono turned around on hearing a shout from behind him.

"Huh? Neptune, what are you doing here? Did you get the ink yet?"

"Uh, no sir. But someone's here to see you. It's a girl, pink hair. Think she's a noble."

Giono furrowed his brows in thought. A noblewoman? He didn't know any. Nobles were trouble. Giono followed a policy to avoid selling his stuff to nobles unless they had a really good reason to want their stuff. Of course, they never did. But what would a noblewoman want here?

Ah well. One had to respect common courtesy.

"Bring her in the shop, Neptune. And then get the ink, already, will you?"

His assistant bowed and left for a moment, before he returned with a girl following him. She looked up in amazement at the machines, but Giono finally recognized her.

"Oh, hello there! You're Napoleon's partner, right? Your name's Elizabeth, right?"

The girl tore her gaze from the machines and looked at Giono. The printer could see that she looked extremely… tired? Worried? He couldn't tell.

"Louise."

"Okay, Louise! How's Napoleon! Don't have much time to be seeing him these days, but I have the new pamphlets out! You should see them, come on!"

"I- "

Louise made a small noise but Giono didn't hear it. Clapping his hand on her shoulder, he half escorted, half dragged her to one of the moving presses. It already had a large pile of papers sitting next to it. With a flourish, Giono grabbed the paper off of the top and pressed it towards Louise, who timidly grabbed it.

"It's pretty good, huh? I couldn't believe it when he told me about it at first, but I have a contact within the castle who told me it's true, the prisoners will be apprehended by the army tomorrow. 50 men taking down 60 ships! That is amazing, stupendous, and incredible! That's something that's supposed to only happen in the most fantastic and ridiculous stories! I have never met anyone like your partner, Louise!"

She said nothing, but Giono didn't seem to notice. He leaned right next to Louise so he could see the same pamphlet she was holding and point out details.

"Look! The artists which I recommended to him? They sent me a picture of him standing on a plain, overlooking a ship. It's a nice and heroic pose, perfect for up at the top. They even included you in the picture, Louise! You should be proud. Now I'd really like to include Henrietta in this picture, but well, she wasn't there, and my artists know best.

And then at the bottom, I have the details. How he persuaded them of the worthiness of our cause, how he told them of the evil deeds Cromwell committed, and so on. He'll become a real hero now!"

"But it wasn't like that."

Louise spoke those words quietly, and Giono stared at her for a bit. He hadn't really known her when they had met at Tarbes, but was she always this quiet? Still, she could use some lessons on proper techniques of journalism.

"Oh, I'm sure some details are off, but that's not important! We, Napoleon and I, we're creating a hero! It'll be great! Besides, he did cause them to surrender, and that's what really matters. Report the news, make up details to interest the people so that they know what great things are being done out there. They want to know more about their world, but it's fantastic stuff, amazing things that they want to hear about, not some realistic report that'll just tell them that the rest of the world is as mundane and boring as their own. Doing all of this work, it's so wonderful!"

"'Napoleon and I', you said?"

Louise now looked down the ground, and Giono became really confused with her behavior.

"Hey, are you all right? I guess Napoleon sent you down here to pick them up, but I guess you can come back if you're not feeling –"

"SHUT UP, YOU COMMONER!"

Instantly, all sound in the shop ceased. It seemed that even the machines had instantly shut down in response to Louise's outburst. Giono did nothing for a second, but then wordlessly looked up at one of his assistants and nodded. That man left the room. He was going to pick up the rest of the assistants and do what he could to kick this noble brat out.

But then he looked down. After those words, Louise had continued to stare at the ground again, without saying anything. But Giono saw that on her cheek dripped a single tear. He looked at his friend's partner while scratching a bald spot, and sighed. Then he knelt down to Louise's level.

"You want to come to my office? I have some tea."

Louise didn't say anything nor did she move, but Giono took it as a yes. Gripping the girl's hand, he began to move to his office. As he did so, the door opened and several assistants stood in the doorway, holding various implements such as staves and iron bars which could be used as weapons. Looking at their boss take the girl who had just been yelling at him into his office, the two groups simply stared at each other, before Giono let out a roar.

"What are you doing, you lazy bums? Get back to work!"

The assistants stared at each other and then the door slammed as they went to return their weapons. Giono continued to walk and entered his office, which doubled as his own living quarters. It was a small but crowded room, with a bed and a chair in it. Giono indicated for Louise to sit on the chair, before he went to a nearby iron stove and began to heat some water. He talked as he fiddled with the kitchen implements.

"So, what do you think you're doing? Barging in my office, yelling at me. I guess Napoleon didn't send you, eh?"

Louise hesitated for a bit, her eyes continuing to bore holes in the floor, before answering.

"No."

"So what then? You guys had a fight? Can't be anything worse than what I used to do with my wife, Brimir rest her soul."

"No."

"Well," Giono continued, a bit more confused this time, "what's up with you? You're pretty screwed up given everything you've done."

"Giono, who is Napoleon?"

"Huh?"

He lifted his head from the stove, now completely befuddled.

"You sure you're Louise, girl? I mean, you're the one who summoned him, right?"

"Yes, but, well, I'm scared."

"What do you mean?"

He finished lighting the stove and put some water on the kettle. However, Giono continued to stand next to it as he listened to Louise.

"Lately, he's not as focused on me these days. You know about what happened with us at the Valliere estate?"

"Of course I do. Don't underestimate my information network, Louise. An artist can go anywhere he wants, you know."

"Ever since then, he's been more distant. He's been speaking less to me and more to his soldiers. But we're partners. I summoned him. I'm scared we'll separate or we'll grow apart, Giono. I really am. And when I was at the estate, I realized it for the first time. I know barely anything about his past, or about him. It worries me."

"Huh."

Giono rubbed his chin for a moment before responding.

"So why'd you go to me then? I'm not a noble, and I barely know you and vice versa. You know the Princess really well, after all. She gets along with Napoleon well, and you were her playmate."

"It's because you're not a noble. I don't know much about my partner. But I've been around him long enough to tell. He doesn't like nobles. He barely associates with them unless necessary and the nobles can't stand him as well. He spends most of his time with Her Majesty or with commoners like his soldiers or you. And I wanted to talk someone who he's associated with."

Silence followed her words, only for it to be broken by the hiss of the kettle. Giono got to work making and serving the tea, handing it to Louise without putting anything in it. He sat down on the bed, taking a drink before asking Louise a question.

"Hey, Louise. What is Napoleon to you? It's not like you love him or something, do you?"

"What?"

Louise's face turned bright-red before she continued.

"S-s-stupid commoner! I don't love him! He's way too old! And he doesn't pay attention to me, and he doesn't actually fight for me! There's no way I could love someone like him!"

She panted out a bit after finishing that flimsy denial, and Giono looked at the girl for a moment with surprise and a small bit of revulsion.

"But…"

"But?"

Her face still remained red, and Louise looked down at her tea as she continued.

"No, I don't love him, Giono. But Napoleon's been like a father to me, and I view him as one."

"Are you saying that you've never had a father? You're a Valliere, right?"

Louise shook her head.

"I have a father, a real one. But he never spoke to me. Never dealt with me. I think he's spent most of his life disappointed with me because I've been such a failure with magic for almost my entire life, or perhaps he was just too busy maintaining Valliere power and prestige to think about me.

But Napoleon's believed in me. I wouldn't be here, a heroine, if it wasn't for him. I wouldn't be a great mage if not for him. I know that you wouldn't be here, successful, if not for him, Giono. The same applies to me as well.

And to see him going away like that? It scares me."

Having let it all out, Louise sniffled a little bit. But right then, she felt a hand on her head. Giono had stood up and was now over her, his expression concealing any emotion.

"W-what are you doing?"

"Man, do you always freak out whenever someone touches you, girl?"

The printer mumbled those words but continued before Louise could retort.

"I don't like nobles, Louise. But I'll be damned before I see a girl cry. Even an old printer has some ethics."

The two simply stayed like that for a bit before Giono was the first to disengage. He made for the shop before stopping at the door.

"It's getting late. You can stay here overnight, Louise. I am going to tell Napoleon where you are, and then the two of you can figure this out. Alright?"

Louise still said nothing. All the same, it was an acknowledgment of what he had proposed. Giono left his room and closed the door. Louise sat there, before jumping upon hearing a sound outside the door.

"NEPTUNE, I TOLD YOU TO TAKE CARE OF THE INK ALREADY!"

…  
>It was night. Alongside a cliff, two robed figures walked, looking out at both the sky and the world that was below them. The lack of clouds meant that they could see Helgekinia below them, a sight that truly was sublime and beautiful.<p>

"It is so much territory. To think that some people are thinking of unifying it all."

Fouquet muttered those words softly but then she turned around. Wardes had stopped walking, and he looked at the escaped prisoner.

"We're waiting here."

"For what?"

Wardes said nothing to Fouquet's inquiry. The two sat down on some rocks and waited. Fouquet looked around on the plain they were sitting on and then she realized that someone else was coming. The person was also hooded and cloaked as he moved towards the pair and stopped before them. The hood was removed, and Fouquet saw that it was in fact a woman. Her features were utterly stern and proud, and it was the face of someone who was used to giving orders and having them obeyed. Beneath her eyes were a pair of purple markings, and her hair was of a similar color as well.

Having arrived before Fouquet and Wardes, the person curtsied before them. Wardes bowed in response, and after a bit of hesitation, Fouquet also chose to bow. The person chuckled slightly upon seeing the greeting the thief gave.

"You should be a bit more feminine, thief. You are far too pretty to be a man."

"Thanks for the compliments." Fouquet said sarcastically while noting the lovely, velvety voice. "Care to introduce us, Wardes?"

"Certainly. Fouquet, this is Sheffield, the secretary of His Excellency Cromwell. She and I, however, both possess the same loyalty."

The thief nodded slowly at those words, taking in the implications.

"I see. You're the real power behind Cromwell, aren't you?"

"Cromwell has frankly done well. But he's cracking. It won't be long until he snaps completely as the strains of being a ruler are beginning to overwhelm him. Likely that will be what happens to him when he is confronted with final and inevitable defeat.

All the same, while Cromwell has done better than I expected, Tristain has surpassed all of our expectations. It's not the Void magic. It's something else, something which we haven't calculated for."

Sheffield held out a scroll of paper, which Wardes used his one hand to take.

"The two of you will be heading to Tristania abroad this small ship. You will unleash the mission written here."

Unable to open the scroll with one hand, Wardes passed it to Fouquet, who opened and read what was inside. Her face visibly blanched on reading it, but she passed the scroll to Wardes without saying anything. The wind mage looked at it, and then grinned savagely upon reading it.

"That is quite an amusing reaction, Fouquet. I thought it would be worse than that."

The thief glared at Wardes's words before straightening up and speaking to Sheffield.

"The only thing I value is the orphanage. What's the pay rate for this?"

"Nothing."

Sheffield laughed softly upon seeing Fouquet's anger before she continued.

"Well, nothing payment-wise. It's just that when Cromwell loses, there's a good chance he might do something… unpredictable. I can make sure where that blind rage will be unleashed. If you fail, well, an orphanage protected by one who's believed to have attacked an important Albion captain could be one target that he might attempt to strike against in blind retribution."

"You…bastard…."

"Call me what you like, Fouquet. The boat will be arriving in a few moments. Get ready for your mission."

With those final words, the secretary walked off into the night landscape. And it was only when she had finally left that Fouquet collapsed onto the ground in tears.


	25. The Hanged Man: Chapter 13

"_This is for the record._

_History is written by the victor._

_History is filled with liars."_

…

…

"_All ships, fire!"_

_Cannons roared and hissed, and Louise looked down as the sounds of their fire blazed through the sky. She was standing at the front of great ship, its mast proud and tall and its numerous guns firing. It seemed vaguely familiar, though she had no idea why._

_She looked down at herself, and saw that her clothing was different. Even though she had not been at the Academy ever since the war began, she had continued to wear the school uniform. But now she was dressed up in a fancy military uniform, a sword at her side and fancy medals on the front of her shirt. Even as high up as she was, she could hear the clashes and noise of a battlefield below, and she heard the sound of screaming and guns firing and all of those terrible things which accompanied war._

_All the same, it felt strange. She couldn't remember how she got here, and for the moment she leaned over the ship and looked down. Who was winning and who was losing? She didn't know. Everything seemed to be obscured by black smoke which rose above the battlefield and hid the developments below. There was a red mob and a blue mob below her, but what the two groups were and what they were fighting for was something which she did not know._

_But then the noise of fighting stopped. An eerie silence followed, and Louise gazed downwards even harder. Had one of the two sides triumphed? Had she won? But her questions were dispelled in an instant as something compelled her to look up._

_There was a ball of light above the ship she was standing on. It felt… wrong. Strange, though she didn't know how. And it began to expand. The light, pure as an angel and yet giving off a terrible foreboding, expanded and consumed the ship she was standing on, and Louise watched as wood and mast alike were somehow devoured by the light. The fellow shipmen screamed as the light consumed them, and Louise tried to back away from it. But it was hopeless. Her legs felt like they were lead, and the light was moving and moving, first devouring the back of the ship and then the middle. As it advanced of what was left of the ship, Louise in her fear and desperation leapt into the sky._

_She was now away from the continually expanding light, but now she was falling. Louise desperately scrabbled for something, anything to keep her up as she continued to fall, but there was nothing to stop her from reaching her end on the hard earth. The ship which she had been standing on was destroyed, and pieces of debris flew past her and raced past her to the ground. But she knew that even if they got there first, eventually she would reach the end of her fall and final oblivion. As the ground grew larger and larger over the next few seconds, tears streamed out of her eyes and nose._

And right before she hit the ground, her eyes snapped open.

Louise laid there in a rough bed. She wasn't on a ship. She wasn't being killed by magic – her magic, she realized. After thinking about it, she knew where she was. She was still in Giono's office, and had fallen asleep shortly after he left, safe and secure.

Even as she didn't move, Louise heard the humming of the printers and noticed that her clothes were damp with cold sweat. It was terrifying. What was that, she wondered? What had that dream been?

But she knew. She knew what it was. It was that of someone she had killed, a reminder of the fact that she taken thousands upon thousands of lives on that day. Casting that Explosion at La Rochelle was the right thing to do, she knew it. The lightning strike from Brimir that had destroyed the_ Lexington_ had been a sign that he was on Tristan's side. So by fighting for Tristain, she was a good person and one who was on the side of justice.

So why was she dreaming of those whom she had killed? She really didn't know. It was horrifying, yes, but it didn't signify anything. It was just a dream, after all. Talking to anyone about it would just invite trouble and ridicule. Given all that she had accomplished, if she started complaining about some bad dreams, it would be unlikely if anyone actually cared about them. So as horrifying as that had been, Louise decided that it was best not to talk to anyone about it.

Either way, she probably had to return. Henrietta would be waiting for her, and so would Napoleon. The two would likely be angry at her for running away even during this short time during a war period, but it would be alright. She had a better idea of how to talk with her partner, and that was all that mattered.

At last, Louise sat up on her bed, and looked around – and then gave a shriek of horror and surprise. Napoleon was sitting in a chair right next to the bed, his arms folded across him. He appeared to be asleep. His eyes were closed and his hat was on a nearby table, but he was still wearing his military uniform.

Louise blushed slightly at her surprise and the sight of him, but then quietly calmed herself down. Of course Napoleon could get in here. Giono had said that he would inform her partner, and no doubt he was here to talk to her. All the same, when Louise thought about it, it was the first time that she had actually ever seen Napoleon asleep. She really had summoned someone incredible. He was a middle-aged man, but somehow had the energy and boundless youth of someone her age. No doubt it's how he pushed everyone around him, herself included, to greater heights.

So it would be all right just to let him sleep for a bit longer, Louise thought. She slipped off the bed and moved towards outside the window. The light of the morning sun streamed into the room. The fact that Napoleon was asleep at such a time really meant that he must have been busy. After all, there still was Albion to be invaded, and the fact that she had chosen to escape from the Valliere estate meant that she was going to fight. She accepted it, of course. She had done so ever since she had cast Explosion.

Still, it would be all right. He may have been spending more time with the soldiers, but things would be fine. They could just return to as they were. And so for some reason she began to speak, partly to Napoleon, partly to herself, and partly just to no one at all.

"You know, Napoleon, I'm sorry. A long time ago, I asked you if you missed your old world. You never did answer me. Eleanor was the one who pointed out that I don't really know anything about you, and I guess it's true.

But do I want to? I know what Henrietta did at La Rochelle. I know how much she suffers inside from wondering whether she did the right thing. I know we did. There wasn't a better way out of that invasion. If I had just summoned an ordinary human, it likely would have been a lot worse and Tristain may have been defeated, even with Brimir's aid.

And if you ruled the world, you likely did something like that before. You probably did terrible things. You're not a nice man, you know. A nice man wouldn't take a proper noble like me and hurl her onto the battlefield."

She giggled a little to herself at that statement, and listened. She could still hear the regular sounds of his breathing.

"All the same, Napoleon, I've pulled you from your throne, your position of power. So I'll stand by you. It's the least I can do given where I dragged you from. And given how you've helped me, I'll help you. No matter what."

She smiled and turned around. Then her face grew paler and paler in shock. Napoleon was still breathing normally, but both of his eyes were open. And he was looking directly at Louise, clearly awake. Louise stuttered as she saw him.

"W-wwwhhhhaaatt? When did you wake up?"

"Did you really think that first shriek didn't wake me up?"

"Y-you…. Stupid Napoleon! It's not like I-I knew you were awake! You weren't supposed to hear that!"

Napoleon yawned a bit and then rose up from the chair, reaching for his hat.

"I guess I did. Louise, are you feeling alright?"

She hesitated for a bit before responding with a strong nod.

"Yeah!"

"Alright then. We need to get to the palace. Henrietta's holding a final preparation meeting for the invasion of Albion."

It was all he said, but Louise couldn't help but feel her heart drop a little. She had been hoping for a talk of reconciliation, one where they would get to understand one another better. But Napoleon didn't even look at her as he put on his hat and moved towards the door.

But as his hand reached the doorway, he stopped and then turned towards his partner.  
>"By the way, Louise, I'm sorry as well."<p>

"What?"

"I know I haven't talked as much with you these days. But you're important to me, Louise. I wouldn't be here if not for you, and I actually do thank you for it.

So there's no need for us to worry about anything, no need to talk about who has done what for each other. We are equals, you and I. I, an Emperor who ruled the entire world, acknowledge you as someone of value. Always take pride in that, Louise."

He turned around after finishing those words and looked at his partner. She was just smiling, happy. It was a nice smile, Napoleon couldn't help but observe. Perhaps he would like to see more of it. But for now, there was nothing further to say.

Napoleon moved to open the door to the print shop, and Louise followed him. As the hinges swung, they both saw that Giono was standing outside. He rubbed his hands together and chuckled with delight upon seeing the two come out together.

"It's great to see that the two of you made up, Napoleon! So, what are you going to be doing now? I know you really liked the posters I made when you came here."

"I'll be heading back to the palace, Giono. There's still a war to be fought. You know that as well as anyone."

"Yes, yes, that is true."

The printer now removed his hands from each and idly moved a bald spot while thinking.

"It really is interesting. You know, Napoleon, I have lived a long time. I'll be 59 years in a few months. But I've never actually fought or seen a war. We've had so many years of peace, and then Cromwell and his cronies had to go around and attack us.

But when you get to the palace, would you mind and do an old man a favor, Napoleon?"

Giono's eyes hardened as he asked that question.

"What is it?"

"I have a friend in the palace. He works as a chef, and he hears things from the servants. Somehow, he found out that we're thinking about not invading Albion at all, but rather just blockading them.

Stop it. I want revenge. So do the people of Tristain, all of my friends. If they are going to invade our country, then we need to make them remember what will happen otherwise. La Rochelle burned because of them. Albion will need to pay threefold for making that happen."

There was a silence that followed his words. But before Napoleon could speak up and offer his thoughts on such a request, Louise quietly said something.

"Is that necessarily the right thing to do? Brimir tells us that revenge is bad, and that we shouldn't try to seek it if we are wronged."

"You're my friend's partner, but you're still a noblewoman. You have somewhere to return to, your estate, your castle, Valliere.

Most of us don't. Some of us lost our homes, everything in La Rochelle because Albion wanted to conquer us. So we want to make sure it never happens again, whether to an old man like me or to our children.

Teach Albion a lesson, Napoleon. You've already taught them two by destroying their army and fleet. Now give them one more, one they will never forget."

And with those words, the printer moved forward and shook Napoleon's hands, his eyes burning.

…

Less than two hours later, Napoleon and Louise stood in front of the palace doors. A guard saluted the pair as they entered the grounds and had accompanied them for the rest of the way. He banged on the door three times, and the doors slowly opened.

It was almost the same scene that it had been two days ago. The generals were surrounding a map, talking to one another and making exaggerated gestures. All of them, upon noticing who had entered the room, quickly drew up ranks. They suspiciously stared at the pair as they strode through the room. Even after seeing how Napoleon had humiliated them a few days ago, Louise remained intimidated at seeing so many high-ranking military officers, so she did her very best to hide it.

But there were two changes. Henrietta was no longer lethargically on her throne, but she had been standing next to the map, pointing at various locations. And the Prince of Wales was not in the room, and instead someone else was by the Princess's side. Napoleon tipped his hat to her as he approached the table.

"It's good to see you again, Agnes. How goes the repairs at La Rochelle?"

The captain shook her head upon hearing the question.

"Half of the city was burned down. It will take years for it to be rebuilt, and I don't think it's something I can do. I've just been focused on keeping our people alive, and that has been strenuous enough. I don't know what I'll do when winter hits."

Napoleon bowed his head, but his personal thoughts were interrupted as Henrietta spoke out.

"Napoleon, it's good to see you again. We're nearly finished making all of the preparations for the invasion of Albion, so now we can start the war council."

"Really?"

"Huh?"

The princess looked at Napoleon quizzically while the Emperor moved forward and looked at a map of Albion, Louise following behind him. She formally bowed before the Princess, who gave a small giggle at the gesture. But then Napoleon continued.

"Let me ask you, Princess Henrietta de Tristain. Why are you invading Albion?"

"What?"

The word was said both by the generals and Henrietta, and this time De Poitiers, standing by the edge of the map, once again went into an outburst.

"What's gotten into you, captain? Why are we invading Albion? They attacked us. They caused us to burn down one of our finest cities and pillaged our land and villages. So we'll strike back, and cause Cromwell to pay for his crimes! We are fighting in the name of Brimir after all, the Void and the Miracle at La Rochelle proves it!"

"And what happens after you defeat Albion?"

Those words caused De Poitiers to splutter even harder, but this time Henrietta was the one to respond to Napoleon's question.

"We'll have peace. The Prince of Wales will be back on the throne, and we will go back to an era of peace and good relations between all. Helgekinia will go back to the way things were."

"Is that it?"

"'Is that it?' What could be greater than having peace within Helgekinia again?"

This time, Napoleon did not say anything. He just stared at Henrietta, who found herself unable to properly look at him. It was a long, hard, gaze, like an eagle watching its prey. After some seconds of simply looking at the princess, the Emperor asked another question.

"Where is the Prince of Wales anyways? I would think that in a meeting which was determining his own fate as well as the fate of his country, he should be here."

Henrietta's face turned a bright, bright red to such a degree that Napoleon didn't even know it was possible for a human face to make. She began fidgeting about, and pressed two of her fingers together while clearly refusing to look at anyone in the face.

"The Prince…is…resting."

Napoleon noted that Agnes's eyes were determinedly boring a hole in the ceiling as Henrietta continued her strange motions. After several further seconds of silence, another general cleared his own throat before speaking out in a reedy, whiny voice.

"Anyways, Captain, I believe you have an appropriate answer. We will invade Albion, install the Prince, and then have peace. I believe you find that a satisfactory plan?"

A few more seconds passed, while Henrietta continued to look down at the ground and Napoleon stared straight at her. As the generals wondered what exactly they should do, he finally responded.

"Sure. I think I see that the current situation is adequate. The aftermath of the war will be dealt with later, after all."

De Poitiers gave a laugh which everyone knew was insincere at Napoleon's statement.

"I'm glad to see that, captain! We will all need to work together to keep a permanent peace within this land, one where the four great nations work together! Now, for this invasion, we will be attempting to land approximately 50,000 men in Albion, and then we will proceed to take the capital of Londinium and force Cromwell to step down from power. Given the current state of turmoil within Albion and how badly their army has been devastated, one might think we can relax once we've landed.

To tell the truth, that probably is so. But we still need to make the landing, which means that we will have to overwhelm the defenses at the Albion port of Rosais. It's large enough so that if our ships can overwhelm them, we'll be able to land all the necessary troops."

The rest of the generals clapped as he finished his statement, but Napoleon folded his arms over his chest while wearing an expression of total skepticism.

"Napoleon. Do you find something wrong with the plan?"

Henrietta asked the question. She had calmed down somewhat and had noticed the expression on his face. Giving a deep sigh, Napoleon pointed at the map of Albion.

"Rosais? Are you kidding? Did you just pick the biggest port and declare that's where you needed to land, De Poitiers?"

"What's the matter with it, Captain?"

There was an especial emphasis by the general on the last word, as he clearly was attempting to impress his rank on Napoleon in an effort to silence him. But an Emperor would have none of that.

"It is true that Rosais is the biggest port in Albion. But it's farther away. Albion will definitely have better defenses there. The port of Dartanes is closer and you can get there faster and set up. Making the invasion happen as quickly as possible is much more important than grabbing a giant port which you won't really need anyways."

"Won't need? Do you actually know anything of warfare? How do you think we'll get the supply trains in? Dartanes isn't big enough to accommodate all of the trains needed to feed and arm 50,000 soldiers."

"Supply trains? You don't need that many wagons to carry all of the ammunition, and that's the important thing."

"No, it's not! You need food in the wagons as well! It's the only way to feed the-"

De Poitiers halted mid-sentence and looked at the map. The rest of the generals watched in confusion as he continually looked. His eyes were definitely moving back and forth between the terrain around Dartanes and that of Rosais. Then he spoke, a little more slowly this time.

"You're not proposing we live off the land, are you?"

"Is such a proposal really so shocking to you?"

"It is."

The rest of the generals looked up. That last statement did not come from De Poitiers, but rather from Henrietta. Now she stared directly at Napoleon, who realized that for the first time he had met her, she was truly irritated with him.

"I will not take food from the locals. That is a violation of the proper way to conduct war and is dishonorable. We will be using supply trains and take food from our own country like a proper army. Only a barbarian horde would consider using such a tactic such as pillaging, Napoleon."

"Is taking food from what you call commoners so much worse than burning down a city, Princess?"

This time, even Louise gasped at his words as well as the generals. But Henrietta's resolute expression did not change in the slightest.

"Of course it is. La Rochelle belongs to Tristain, to the crown, to me. Consequently, as painful as it is, I can choose to destroy it if I want, though I will do penance for that decision for every day until I die.

Albion does not. The food from the peasants does not. Consequently, I have no right to take it, even if Tristain is at war. We must remain civilized."

Henrietta finished her statement, and there was an outburst of applause, as everyone present but Napoleon gave their approval to their sovereign. Even Louise did so, though it was a little more tentative and she kept nervously glancing at her partner. Still, Napoleon was alone in his insane idea of not being completely dependent on supply trains.

With those words, the meeting continued. With those words, it was clear that Rosais was to be the place which would be invaded, as Dartanes was too small to accommodate that many men and the supplies which would all be brought from Tristain. So the generals and Napoleon began making their plans for how the defenses would be overcome. But it was noted that Napoleon and De Poitiers, over the course of the debates, seemed to disagree on even the most trivial little issues. Without constant mediation from both Agnes and Henrietta, violence would likely have broken out right there. Still, it remained productive, and Tristain began their final plans.

…

"I'm late I'm late I'm late I'm late!"

Guiche de Gramont panted as he ran down the streets of Tristainia, all the while cursing himself out. He had been supposed to report to the De Vineuil Independent Battalion about five hours ago, but before he had left for Tristania, he had taken a bit too long saying farewell to Montmorency, and thus the two had fallen asleep together. It's not like they had done "that" before he left. It's just that he had wanted to stay with her for a while before he departed, and then the two lightly dozed off as their heads touched each other. He had woken up to great horror, realizing that what was supposed to be a night trip to the city was instead turned into a nap next to his girlfriend. A refreshing nap, definitely, but it wouldn't prevent him from being flayed alive by his superior officer, possibly literally.

But as he ran down the streets, he realized that he hadn't actually been in Tristania for quite some time. The result was that he was right now pretty lost. He had stopped by and asked a commoner for directions to the barracks, but somehow it had made things worse. He couldn't rule out the possibility that the commoner had intentionally given a nobleman wrong directions, but there was no time to think about it.

"Hey! Guiche!"

The nobleman heard someone call out his name, and he quickly looked around. It didn't take long. That shock of pink hair was noticeable from a mile away. Louise was right in front of him, and someone was besides her, an older man in a military uniform. Now that Guiche thought about it, wasn't that the strange familiar she had summoned?

"Hi, Louise. I'm sorry, I'm busy right now. I'm reporting for duty."

"Duty? Are you fighting now?"

"Yeah, I need to head to the barracks. I'm reporting with the De Vineuil Independent Battalion and need to be there right now. I'm sorry, bye!"

He began to run, but then her familiar spoke up with words that stopped him in his tracks.

"The De Vineuil Battalion is not in Tristania right now."

"What?"

Guiche whirled around so fast that combined with forward momentum, he tripped and fell on his butt on the cobblestones. Not exactly the most dignified pose for a nobleman, but that didn't matter. What had Louise's familiar said?

"They just left for La Rochelle about six hours ago. They'll be assisting with the repair efforts. It's all they're good for, anyways. That battalion's just a bunch of old men; this war isn't so urgent that we need to call them up."

Guiche sat there with shock at everything Napoleon said and did not even bother to get up. The Battalion he was assigned to? Gone? Brimir knows he could try to catch up with them, but they would likely be very upset with him being this late and not even present with them on the march. This was a disaster, and was not supposed to represent himself.

Guiche had changed, after all. He knew that. He had been betrayed by a teacher in his own school and had been trapped in a tomb of earth for what seemed like eternity. And then the air had run out. It was horrifying. Even when he tried to forget them, the memories, the sensation of suffocation somehow would emerge on the strangest triggers. But as a result, he had grown more serious. The playboy of the past still existed to some degree, but he was now loyal to Montmorency. It was all he knew.

So his start in his battalion was supposed to represent the beginning of a new life, one where he would at last equal his more brilliant brothers. But he had already failed. What was he to do now?

As he sat there and continued his internal monologue, he realized that Louise's familiar had kneeled down in front of him. That man in the military uniform then began to say something to Guiche.

"Hey, boy. If I remember something from attending my partner's classes, you were an earth mage, right?"

"Y-yeah."

"Tell me then, boy. Why do you fight?"

"What do you mean? I'm fighting for my country, to protect Tristain and the Princess and-"

"You misinterpreted the question, boy."

"Don't call me boy! My name is Guiche de Gramont, third son of the prestigious Gramont family! I am a nobleman, so treat me with the respect you would give one!"

Guiche shouted those words to hide his irritation, both at the man in front of him and at himself for his failures. But Napoleon gave no response to those words.

"I introduced myself in front of you mages those months ago when I was summoned. I am Napoleon Bonaparte, one who ruled the world. Now I will ask again. Do you have no personal reason to fight in this war? You have no desire to seize honor, or glory, or wealth, or power?"

"Well, of course I like those things. But I want to protect my country."

Napoleon nodded for a bit and then stood up, hoisting up Guiche at the same time.

"Tell you what, boy. My company will be formally reinstated soon, but we need an earth mage. How would you like to join?"

"What? Wait, your company? Since you're a familiar, isn't it Louise's company?"

"No."

Guiche appeared to be completely confused, and while Louise opened her mouth, Napoleon continued before she could step in.

"Louise works under the Princess. I work for Henrietta as well, and I have a few soldiers under my command. And I accept only the best, Guiche de Gramont."

There was a slight edge to the tone, something about it which made Guiche realize it was probably best to be quiet, especially since Napoleon had answered his question. So he did, and he slowly rose to his feet.

"So, how am I supposed to prove that I'm the best?"

Napoleon smiled at those words, clearly enthused. The fact that the boy had quickly caught on to what he had stated was a good sign.

"Follow me."

…

Cartier Martin grumbled as he stood in the courtyard.

"Napoleon, what in Brimir's name do you think you're doing?"

The captain of the soon to be Imperial guard sat on a chair, munching an apple. He glanced over at Martin, bothering to open one eye as the sun was shining in his eyes.

"We have a recruit. Guiche de Gramont, third son of the Gramont family. I have an interest in him joining."

Guiche was on the other end of the courtyard, his wand in his hand. Martin looked over at him. The Gramont family was the main ally with the Duke of Walloon, which was the family in which Martin had born in and later expelled from. As a result, he didn't like the Gramont family much more than he liked his own father.

"So what? You want me to kill him?"

Napoleon shook his head and held up a watch.

"I want you to duel him. If you can't beat him within three minutes, I'll put him in the guard."

The rest of the guard was in courtyard, watching the scene. Some were placing bets, which caused Martin to twitch in irritation. If people were betting, it meant that some thought he would fail to beat the kid. Unacceptable.

So the wind mage pulled out his wand, which sparkled with energy, and then pointed it at himself.

"Make it two minutes, Napoleon. Speed!"

In mage duels, there is normally a proper decorum. One announces oneself and his family, talks about the great deeds he's accomplished, and insults the opponent as a way of intimidation. If the opponent does not back down, which generally rarely happens, then the duel begins. In general, they are not fought to the death.

But Martin was already annoyed at being called out to the courtyard for this kid, and he definitely didn't like the idea of a Gramont being a member of the Guards. Besides, he was a soldier. Soldiers don't bother with duels.

So he cast Speed on himself instantly and rushed towards him. He wasn't interested in using the sword hidden on his back. Just the knife would be sufficient. Rocket towards this earth mage before he could react, stab him in the chest. He could go for the throat, but Martin wasn't interested in actually killing the kid.

However, Guiche moved faster than Martin had anticipated. With a flick of his wrist, a metal female warrior rose up from the ground and intercepted the dagger which was in Martin's right hand. While Martin's dagger penetrated the warrior's arm, it was hardly enough to actually harm the metal creature. And its other arm moved to punch Martin. He blocked it with his left arm, but the pain from the impact was severe. Still, it brought him some time.

"Speed!"

He quickly rocketed back, and then cast it on himself one more time to go to the left. This, for Martin's was Speed's biggest problem. He could move at incredibly high speeds, but he could only do so in a straight line. If he wanted to change direction, he had to cast it again, which made it highly inefficient in a prolonged fight.

Still, it wasn't over. Casting Speed on himself for now the fourth time, he shot past the metal warrior and switched the wand to his left hand. Stopping on a dime next to Guiche, he grabbed the invisible sword with his right hand and swung it towards the earth mage.

But Guiche flicked his rose again and another warrior appeared and blocked it. With the second warrior converging on him, Martin jumped back this time without using Speed, dodging the attacks.

"Kid, what level are you at?"

"No need to answer that."

Martin shrugged at Guiche's response, and began thinking. Those warriors, golems, were made of bronze. Still, bronze could block his sword, and given the time limit, he was the one who had to strike back. He needed something stronger, something with a bit more power.

"That's it."

Once again, he cast the same spell, only this time he rocketed away in a completely different direction, away from Guiche and towards the crowd surrounding them. The group of men moved out of Martin's way as fast as he could, but he still knocked some of them aside with his momentum.

"Running away?"

The taunt was made by someone else in the crowd, but they stopped when they saw what Martin was doing. He had grabbed his musket, which was already loaded. Guiche immediately realized what his opponent was doing, and one of the golems moved to protect its master. But one of them was simply too slow, and while Martin had struggled with the weapon in practice, here in a fight he had no trouble at all. His hands and eyes assumed the proper position as if he had used it for years, and he fired the weapon at Guiche.

The bullet punched through the golem like it was made of paper, and while it prevented Martin from seeing and aiming at Guiche, he could hear a scream of pain. Dropping the gun, he cast Speed on himself one more time, once again shooting past the golem. Distracted and shocked by the pain, Guiche never had time to conjure another golem to protect himself before Martin was upon him. A quick knee to the stomach, and the two of them collapsed on the ground. Martin readied his dagger.

"Time!"

Napoleon said those words as he looked at the watch, and after a bit of silence, everyone else hooted and cheered. They rushed forward and picked Guiche in their arms, tossing him aloft out of the amusement and excitement of him surviving their best mage even as blood dripped down from the earth mage's left arm. Even Martin, after shaking his head, gave the boy a pat on the head. Still, as he stood a bit away from the crowd, he didn't move as Napoleon walked up behind him.

"It's your entire fault, you know. I gave it two minutes like you requested. You would have won if there were three."

Martin simply shook his head at those words.

"I guess so. Did you want to teach me not to be overconfident, Captain?"

"Who knows? Besides, Guiche is determined and has an interesting spell that can augment our small numbers. I think he has potential as well. All the same, good job for you Martin. Glad to see you finally figured out that gun."

He clapped Martin on the back one more time, and moved to leave the courtyard. He saw that Louise chose to follow him, and she quickly leapt up and whispered in his ear.

"You know I was also keeping time, Napoleon."

"Oh? So how long was it actually, Louise?"

"One minute and 48 seconds."

Napoleon shrugged his shoulders as he looked at his watch. It was clearly cracked down the middle and its hands had not moved in ages. It was another memento of his world.

"Well, now you have someone else who you're familiar with. I'm sure you'll be alright. You should take him on a morning run."

And as the two left the courtyard chatting with each other, Louise smiled even as she whacked Napoleon in the back. It was good to see that their relation was going back to normal again.


	26. The Hanged Man: Chapter 14

"_If he lives and we die, his truth becomes written_

_And ours is lost._

_Shepherd will be a hero. Cause all you need to change the world is one good lie and a river of blood."_

…

…

The winds howled outside, but inside the building where Napoleon and Louise were sitting, a great fire was blazing. The two of them sat at a great round table, and a mug of steaming coffee sat in front of the Emperor. An expression of contempt and disdain remained on his face as he looked across at the opposite side of the table.

"I am curious, General De Poitiers. Are you so eager to obtain promotion and glory for yourself that you chose to launch an invasion of a foreign nation high in the skies in the fall?"

The old general said nothing in response to the biting question, but rather drew an overcoat around himself a little tighter. Chief of Staff Wimpffen, sitting to De Poitier's right, responded instead.

"It was necessary in order to ensure that justice was done as swift as possible. Besides, it's not like it's a significant problem, Captain. This invasion so far has proven to be a resounding success. Eight weeks ago, we were sitting in Tristania, discussing how to supply our soldiers. Now? We are in the city of Saxe-Gotha, just a few miles away from the Albion capital city of Londinium. We can end this war quickly enough anyways, especially since we do have the necessary supply trains."

The last line was clearly a barb at what Napoleon had proposed back in Tristania, but the Emperor gave no reaction. A couple generals chuckled at Wimpffen's words, but they were interrupted as the double doors to their room swung open. And Princess Henrietta walked in the conference room, with Wales at her side and Agnes following slightly behind them.

Everyone, even Napoleon, stood at attention upon seeing her walk in, but a wave of her hand caused them to sit down. Henrietta took her seat and Wales sat next to her. Agnes remained standing.

After greeting and saying the names of the dozen or so generals who were there as well as Louise and Napoleon, Henrietta clasped her hands in front of her. She was waiting for De Poitiers to give his report, and he hastily obliged.

"Your Majesty, as you are well aware, it has been about three weeks since we disembarked at the port of Rosais without receiving even the slightest opposition from Albion's remaining forces. As it stands now, this pattern has continued. Albion is holed up in Londinium, likely awaiting a last siege or hoping that the weather will wear down our troops enough for a counterattack. The problem is that besieging Londinium will be very difficult especially as it descends into winter, and we will need more food and supplies in a couple weeks. This is especially so as we have been giving the locals in Saxe-Gotha food as Albion took all of the remaining supplies, reprising our own scorched earth tactics to a less extreme manner."

De Poitiers paused for a bit and looked at Napoleon. The Emperor was seemingly not seriously listening to the report, as he stared at the roaring fire while drinking coffee. All the same, now that the Supreme General thought about it, it was rather strange. Napoleon had advocated taking food from the Albion people as a means of feeding the Tristain forces, and so he should have been enraged when he heard about how Tristain was giving their food to Albion. It was something which even some of the generals had objected to, as they had argued that they needed to take care of their own logistical needs. Instead, Napoleon had voiced no complaints whatsoever with the policy, though he had basically refused to discuss why.

Clearing his throat, the old general continued.

"An immediate assault on Londinium is currently not possible. We would need more supplies brought in, more mages and more cannons to assault the walls so that the city could be taken. Consequently, it is probably best to wait. Extend our control over Albion in general, and obtain more supplies. Our overwhelming air superiority will make that not very difficult."

He finished and looked at Wimpffen, whom took the gesture as an indication. The Chief of Staff took out a slip of paper from a pouch on his belt.

"Going on those lines, we have received a notice from Cromwell. He is offering a truce to us for the duration of the Silver Pentecost, one of our most important religious holidays. It would last for approximately two weeks, starting tomorrow. I believe that we should accept, Your Majesty."

"You are insane."

No one was surprised anymore to hear those words, as there was only one person in that room whom would bother to say that to the Tristanian military leadership. Looking directly at De Poitiers instead of Wimpffen, Napoleon set his cup down and made his retort.

"A truce? You have the momentum, De Poitiers. You intend to break that momentum, lie around for a few weeks like a lazy dog, and then restart the fighting. Two weeks without any fighting will give Albion plenty of time to shore up their defenses in Londinium at the absolute minimum, and they could likely maneuver their forces to hit our supplies and communications. There is no reason to stop fighting in a war. Ever."

De Poitiers bristled at the sharp, sarcastic words.

"You know, Captain, we don't even know where you're from. Does a man like you even believe in Brimir?"

"No."

The response was made without even the slightest hesitation, but everyone was stunned by how brusque it was. Even Henrietta and Louise, the two who knew him the best, were surprised. But Napoleon gave no indication of noticing them as he continued.

"I don't believe in Brimir. He didn't exist where I came from. And honestly, Brimir won't win us wars, De Poitiers. He also hasn't done much in making sure your estates are profitable or that your son isn't cavorting around."

"WHY YOU!"  
>De Poitiers roared in rage at those final words. That was it. He could tolerate military insults. But insulting his estate which had just happened to have some bad luck these past few years, or his family? He would make this little rascal of a captain know his place!<p>

The general pulled out his wand out, but at the same moment Napoleon pulled out a pistol and held it in his right hand. Louise realized it as the one he always brought around with him, but she was still surprised. What was he thinking, bringing it to this conference?

The two glared at each other in hatred and contempt, pointing their weapons at each other in a room that was shocked into silence by the scene before them. It was interrupted by the sound of clapping. Henrietta sarcastically slammed her hands together repeatedly, not even bothering to hide her expression of total irritation.

"Am I going to have to separate you two like I would do with a pair of five year old children? I have already asked you both to work together, so put down your stupid weapons. _Now_."

The normally fair and just princess had disappeared. Henrietta was a triangle water mage, and if she got pissed enough, she believed she could probably kill both De Poitiers and Napoleon by herself. And she was extremely irritated with both of them by now despite their respective talents.

The two glanced at Henrietta for a second, looked at her extremely angry expression, and then slowly lowered their weapons. Even then, they continued to glower at one another. Wimpffen took the opportunity to break in and repeat his opinion.

"Your Majesty, whatever Albion may be doing, our forces still need time to recover and rest. I again recommend that we accept the truce."

Henrietta sank back in her chair, deep in thought. Planning out a campaign was much harder then she had ever anticipated, especially given all the concerns which were made for her protection. She had no intention of telling Napoleon, but she likely would not have directly participated in the Albion invasion over the objections of her courtiers were it not for him. At minimum, she knew that she would likely be needed to keep De Poitiers and Napoleon from killing each other as had just happened. But there was more than that. He had been a ruler of a great empire, and he marched and fought alongside his men. Even if he had been defeated, the idea of fighting alongside one's soldiers was too much of a temptation for even someone as peaceful as Henrietta. How could a ruler not fight and command his solders? If she was to be a great and just ruler, she had to show that she was as good at war as she was at peace.

After several minutes of thinking, she finally hung her head.

"I understand, Wimpffen. Tell the Albion commander that we will accept it for two weeks. Also go ahead and demand the surrender of Londinium while you're at it. They almost certainly won't accept it, but you never know."

Wimpffen nodded in response, and then Henrietta stood up.

"This meeting is adjourned. I will be returning to my tent to pray for all who have died over the course of this war. I urge every single one of you to do the same."

The generals saluted, and stood up. The meeting was over, and it descended into a hullabaloo as everyone idly chatted with one another. Henrietta made to leave, followed by the Prince and Agnes who had both remained silent throughout the meeting. But then she heard a shout behind her.

"Princess!"

Napoleon had apparently moved quickly towards her the minute the meeting ended, but now Henrietta simply glanced back at the fellow ruler.

"What is it, Napoleon? Would you please attempt to get along with your peers?"

"I'd like to speak with the Prince of Wales. Alone."

The Prince himself turned around at those words, and for the first time, he talked to the Emperor.

"What is it you wish, Bonaparte?"

"I just want to talk with another sovereign. Nothing more."

Henrietta regarded the request with suspicion, but she found nothing wrong with it. She looked at Wales, who shrugged and nodded at the Emperor.

"Very well then. Is there someplace in particular you would like to talk?"

"I would like to go into town. It would be nice to see the people of your country and what they think of you."

Wales paled slightly, but Napoleon simply clapped him on the shoulder.

"Come on, it will be interesting. What's the worst that can happen?"

…

Louise looked nervously around, not knowing what to do. Napoleon had come back, half-escorting, half-dragging the Prince along, and telling her to come with them while they explored the city. Now they were indoors, in a café that Napoleon had insisted they stop by, waiting for the meal they had ordered. Furthermore, they were not alone. Napoleon had stated that as they were two sovereigns and an important mage, it was important to have protection. Consequently, he had first stopped by the barracks which was housing his Guard, and had sent for Foucard and Guiche. The latter had been literally dragged out of his cot by the former, and even now the giant man had one muscular arm wrapped around the noble's shoulders.

"Have no idea how a runt like you survived for two minutes against Martin," he grumbled. "Even I would have difficulty kicking that lover's rear end."

Napoleon laughed loudly at those words as he drank from a glass of beer.

"I told you, Foucard, I take only the best. If I'm going to throw a noble like him in the Guards, then I think he can be good.

And by the way, Louise, I like the new outfit. It looks good on you."

Louise blushed heavily at those words. The café had not been the first place they had gone to when they had entered Saxe-Gotha. Louise had continued to wear her school uniform despite the long time it had been since they had been at the Academy. However, Napoleon had declared that given how cold it was getting in Albion, it was absolutely unacceptable for his partner to be wearing something like that. Consequently, their first stop had been at a tailor who had received orders to give Louise a proper winter outfit. She now wore a fur coat and scarf, with a thick olive shirt underneath. She also wore pants of a matching color, something which had surprised everyone who saw her. But Napoleon had observed that as improper it was, there was no way she could reasonably be expected to fight wearing a dress. "Results are what matter" were his exact words.

"T-thanks."

The group continued to chat for a little while, receiving their food and digging in. After finishing his pork chop, Napoleon looked up at the Prince. He was wistfully looking out at the town.

"So, Prince. Why don't we get started on our conversation?"

Everyone looked at Napoleon at those words. Wales shrugged his shoulders in response.

"You have some reason you want to talk to me so badly. What is it?"

"Why are you fighting?"

"Huh?"

The question simply provoked confusion from the rest of the group, but Napoleon cut them off with a wave. The Prince in the meantime blinked in confusion.

"What do you mean, Bonaparte? I'm fighting to retake the throne."

"And why do you want the throne? What will you do when you take it?"

"What does that matter? I am the rightful ruler of Albion. My father ruled this country, and his father did before and so did his father. Look at what Cromwell has done. He has ruined this country, not even giving it a chance for peace before plunging it into another war, an aggressive war where he seeks to destroy me."

"So you, like the Princess, seek peace."

"Well, what do you seek, Napoleon? Why does someone who's not a Tristanian fight?"

Napoleon had ordered another glass of beer in the meantime, and stirred it with a spoon. He looked outside. A crowd of natives were beginning to gather outside the café, seeing that their former ruler was sitting nearby.

He thought about ignoring the question, but then glanced at Guiche and Foucard. The two were looking at him with great interest in response to Wales's question. So after thinking about it a bit more, he gave an answer.

"Eternity."

"Huh?"

Everyone at the table, including Louise gave a sound of confusion at such a peculiar answer. But this time, Napoleon did not give them the chance to retort.

"At any rate, what will your relations be with Tristain be when you take the throne? Will you just be friends with us or will there be an actual alliance?"

The Prince blushed furiously at those words, and looked down for a bit. Then he spoke up with a very soft voice.

"I will be marrying Henrietta and thus securing the safety of both of our countries. I know it's supposed to be a secret, but-"

"Secret? Everyone knows that."

"Huh?"

Wales looked around at the group. Guiche and Foucard had never met Wales before. They had never attended any of the conferences. But even they nodded their heads along with Louise, and Wales's face flushed.

"B-but how did you know?"

Foucard shrugged in response to those words.

"Heard it through rumors somehow. But it's all over the camps. Everyone knows that you two have a relationship and will probably marry when this war is over. But it's not like it's that important. The Reconquista attacked us, and thus it is our duty to fight back and obey our Princess. That is our duty and job."

The conversation drifted off after that. Guiche and Foucard stared into space, Wales looked down at the ground in embarrassment, and Louise wondered what to do. Meanwhile, Napoleon keenly stared at Wales, clearly deep in thought.

CRASH

Without warning, a large rock was flung through the window. The impact slowed it down, and the rock skidded to a halt in front of the table at which Napoleon's group was sitting at. They looked outside at the culprit, and Wales paled at what he saw.

The crowd of natives outside had grown larger and larger as they continued to sit outside the restaurant. The majority of the people here supported Wales, as they were tired of the wars which the Holy Republic had brought upon them and were grateful to the Tristanians for giving them their provisions. But there were those who still opposed him. Even now, as fighting broke out, Napoleon and the rest could hear the different chants.

"Death to the Whore's Puppet! Long Live Cromwell!"

"Long Live the Prince! Long Live the Prince!"

Another rock sailed through the window, and Napoleon could see the café's owner shrink down behind his counter. Growling in irritation, he drew his sword and covered the Prince with his own body, while pointing at Guiche and Foucard.

"Both of you get out there, do not let anyone enter this store! Louise, stay with me!"

Guiche drew his wand, clearly unable to hide the nervous expression on his face while Foucard unslung his musket.

"You owe me for this, old man! Come on, noble boy! Show these people what you can do!"

The two charged towards the café, Guiche following the muscled Guard. Louise made to chase after them, but Napoleon grabbed her arm.

"What are you doing, you idiot? You won't be of any use out there."

"Why you!"

Louise retorted without thinking, but then simply trembled a bit and sat back down at the table. What good would Void magic do in keeping a crowd calm? In fact, what use was she in this crisis at all? The Prince had attempted to move forward to speak to the fighting crowd, but Napoleon resolutely blocked his way, and after a brief struggle, the Prince laid under the table, shielded by the Emperor.

Meanwhile, Guiche quickly used his Valkyries to create a wall protecting the café, and Foucard stood at attention, his musket ready to fire on anyone willing to charge. Napoleon noted that he did not actually attack anyone yet and instead focused on protecting the perimeter of the café, and he grinned at that. Good, he thought. Foucard wasn't as dumb as their initial encounter had led Napoleon to believe. The soldier had realized that attacking haphazardly would more likely enrage the crowd and endanger the cafe then stop the fighting.

The shrieks of whistles blasted through the air, and the three of them saw that the local guardsmen were running up with spears in hand to stop the disturbance. With a few more whistle blasts, and a couple cracked skulls, the guards broke up the two fighting groups. As peace gradually came back to the street, Napoleon glanced at the Prince, whose face was pale at the commotion over him outside.

"So you're a liberator, eh?"

He couldn't help but make the sarcastic quip, but Wales continued to look outside at the street. Blood from the fighting flowed down, draining into some nearby gutters.

…

As the five of them rode back to the Tristain camp, they continued in silence. Guiche and Foucard were bruised and the latter had been hit in the head by a work which had caused a cut on his head. Nevertheless, both were fine, and the muscular man now had a higher opinion of Guiche. Right after the fight, he had heartily regaled the young nobleman and proclaimed that now he could understand how the nobleman had survived against Martin. Louise had shot Napoleon an icy gaze at those words, but the Emperor said nothing.

Still, it was late at night, and all of them were too exhausted by the day's events to do much after the fighting or even to talk a lot. Nearing their destination of their nightly lodgings, they dismounted, and Foucard and Guiche gave their farewells before they left. As the remaining three people watched their backs trail off, the Prince of Wales spoke up.

"I'd like to thank you two. For helping my people, as well as me."

Louise shook her head.

"It is how one should treat a Prince. But Your Majesty, I'm so sorry you had to see that! I'm sure most of your people understand!"

"Do they?"

The Prince gave a sad chuckle at his words. After thinking for a bit, he continued.

"You know, I thought the people really did support me. When I ascended to the throne two years ago, I was eager. I hoped to instill a reign of peace and justice, and thus did my best to work for all interests, not just the nobles. I understood the commoners needed a voice too, and so I lowered their taxes and was thinking of a way to give them further rights.

But when Cromwell appeared out of nowhere with most of the nobility behind him, the commoners did nothing. They didn't particularly help Cromwell, and given how quickly he rallied the nobles to his cause, perhaps it was indeed better for them not to help me. But the fact that they didn't even make the slightest effort surprised me. The people I'm supposed to rule, treat with dignity and respect, did not move in the slightest to help me in return? Do they even want me to return, or am I just a whore's puppet?"

"Don't speak of Her Majesty like that!"

Louise instantly shouted at the Prince for using such a derogatory word, but then shut herself up in embarrassment. The Prince gave no notice of it, and simply looked out at the sky. He couldn't help but think of a burned letter and of an angry bodyguard.

Agnes had told him months ago. That he had to fight, to represent the Royal Family. To avenge their deaths and take the throne that rightfully belonged to him.

But what kind of vengeance did it mean if his country would be burned in the flames of war in return?

He finally snapped out of his reverie, noticing that the pair accompanying continued to watch him.

"I bid you good night." Wales said. And with those words he set off for Henrietta's camp. Louise and Napoleon watched him set off before they walked back to their own tent.

"Napoleon?"

"Yeah?"

"What are we fighting for?"

The Emperor slowly looked at his partner, and then gave a bright grin, slapping Louise in the back.

"Good, my partner! Very good! That is what I expect from you, to ask questions like this!"

Louise remained confused, and thought of asking just what he meant by this words. But then as they continued to walk, they saw that a messenger was relentlessly pacing in front of their tent. He looked up as he saw them approach.

"Are you Louise Francoise le Blanc de la Valliere?"

Louise nodded in response to his inquiry, and he reached into a pouch that he was carrying.

"I have a letter for you. From the Valliere estate. It is urgent."

The messenger held the scroll to Louise, who opened it and began to read. As her eyes went further and further down, Napoleon saw her face grow steadily ashen.

"Cattleya…"

"What?"

Napoleon gave an inquiry to that mumble. He instantly regretted it when he heard Louise's shout.

"Cattleya! Napoleon, she's sick, really really sick! It's from Jerome, our butler. He says she's dying, that I need to go to her."

"H-hold on a sec…"

"She's my sister, Napoleon! I need to be at her side! Right now! I need to go; I need to be with her, I…I…"

She began jumping up and down, clearly unable to control the energy which was running through at that news. Napoleon could see that her partner wanted to drop everything and rush to her ill sister, but…

"I don't know what to do. It's my sister, I need to be with her. But Her Majesty…Her Majesty…I need to be with her. What if something happens to Henrietta while I'm gone? I have to protect her…what do I do, Napoleon?"

Her voice quavering, Louise stopped jumping, and then wailed in agony and grief. But as she continued to jump nervously around, she felt a pair of arms around her.

"Go."

Napoleon's mouth was by her ear. His breath tickled it slightly, and the shock of the gesture caused Louise to stop bawling, though she still sniffled in response.

"But… Henrietta…"

"You should go. Right now. The generals will likely be enraged at the idea of you leaving, but I will explain it to the Princess. We'll be fine without you."

"Are you sure, Napoleon?"

He hugged her a little tighter in response.

"I am the Emperor Napoleon. The army in Londinium? I could defeat them with just my guard. Trust me, Louise. Nothing will happen to us. "

She smiled a little bit at his boast, and then they parted from one another. Louise stood outside the tent, and Napoleon could hear her throwing in a few essentials into a bag. He then heard someone else walking up behind him.

"What is it, Guiche de Gramont?"

The young mage, Louise's companion at the Academy, stopped in the grass in surprise.

"How did you know?"

"Your footsteps are the lightest."

There was short silence of surprise that followed his words.

"Sir, is Louise alright?"

Napoleon nodded at his inquiry, still not looking at the young nobleman.

"She'll be fine. Tell me, Guiche, you are not the only one who she woke up, correct?"

"Everyone was woken up except Martin, sir. Apparently he's still in the town, doing… something."

"Good for everyone here, then. An army always needs to sleep lightly. Dismissed, Gramont."

The young mage saluted at those words, and then slunk off. After he did so, Louise emerged, carrying one bag. Napoleon knelt down, putting his hands on her shoulders.

"Get there safely, Louise. And do be back before the truce ends."

Louise wiped her face with one hand and then lightly hit his arm with the other.

"I promise, Napoleon. I'll be back to end this war, and then Tristain can remain in peace. Forever."

He clapped her on the shoulder one more time, and then Louise took off. As she called for a horse, she decided that as frightened as she was for her dear sister, she would try to think positively. Think about the future victory. Think about Cattleya getting better.

Oh yeah. One more happy thing. It appeared that Joseph had learned how to read. That was good.

…

"Are you sure about this?"

In the White Hall in the Albion capital, a general nervously nodded at Cromwell's words.

"Yes, your Excellency. It's been five days since we successfully negotiated the truce. And we have received word from our latest spy. Apparently Tristain has a powerful weapon which they intended to use to win the war, and it was that weapon which caused the destruction of the _Lexington_. However, it will be out of commission for some time."

"How long?"

"The spy didn't say. Apparently, it will be some time."

Cromwell sullenly nodded at those words. The general glanced at the wine glass in his left hand. He had heard reports that his leader was resorting more to alcohol these days given how badly the war was going, but now he was barely hiding it. Nevertheless, he cleared his throat.

"As we all know, the Silver Pentecost lasts for two weeks, but it is the eighth day which is the most important. Consequently, we will strike at the night of the eighth day. Many of the Tristain soldiers will be reveling or at temple, meaning that they will be in no state to fight. We of course, will hold ceremonies during the day, but it will be at night when we attack.

That said, this attack will fail without the magic you are planning. I must ask if you are certain of it, Your Excellency."

While Cromwell had been nodding appropriately, it was obvious to everyone in the room that their leader was barely paying attention. As he took another drink, it was instead the strange purple woman behind him, the one the generals knew as Sheffield, who responded in his place.

"It is Cromwell's magic, but it will be my ceremony that will carry it out. Thus, I can assure you it will work. If you do not trust me, then you may come along with me, General."

"What about Gallia?"

An uncomfortable silence reigned through the words. The general had broached a topic which no one in the room had really wanted to discuss. However, Cromwell was the one who responded.

"King Joseph has told me that he is still busy organizing his soldiers. He needs to be properly ready if he intends to invade Tristain, as he observes that many of the nobles remain seriously uncomfortable with supporting us."

"He said that a month ago! He's likely decided that we've lost and is delaying the invasion! You need to tell him, Cromwell. Tell him that he attacks or we'll reveal the secret alliance! If it's discovered before the attack, no country in Helgekinia will trust Gallia ever again!"

"And what good would that do for all of us?"

Those words belonged to Sheffield. Her voice now was proud and haughty, and the general shrunk back a little at the coldness of her words.

"At this point we are dependent on Gallia. But that is better than it was for Tristain. They no longer have Germania to depend upon. So why can we not defeat Tristain by ourselves, especially since they lack this weapon of theirs?"

"I'm just trying to get an idea of our available resources!"

"You're just seeking an excuse not to attack during this holiday! My magic – I mean His Excellency's magic – will succeed. I promise this. All that will be necessary then is to deal your duty like you soldiers are supposed to. Is that clear?"

After a moment, the general sullenly nodded. Clicking his heels together, he saluted Cromwell, and then left the room. Only Sheffield and Cromwell were in the main hall at this point. Sheffield then made to leave, but then heard the sound of weeping. It was coming from her nominal master.

"I can't do this anymore Sheffield."

Cromwell fumbled for the wine glass. He needed drink. The duty of a king, the duty to rule Albion. It had been all too much. Besides, was he even really a king? It's not like he had to work for it. Once, a long time ago, he had told a stranger in a bar that he wanted to be a king as a joke. But then the next night he had met the strange woman besides him. Always following her, always obeying her commands, that was what he had done to rally the nobles around him. But that still meant he was a servant, just one with a fancier title.

He finally grasped the glass, only for it to be snatched out of his hands. Sheffield grabbed it, and then flung it against a far wall. As the glass shattered into a thousand fragments, she looked down on Cromwell, speaking to him in a motherly voice.

"You drink too much these days, Cromwell. You know why we have to do this. To unite all of Helgekinia and turn this country into one. That is Brimir's will."

"But why me? I'll turn Albion over to Joseph, he's capable, and it'll be alright then."

"No. Joseph is not a holy man. Only one like you, who was so candid with me on that night in the bar, can do it, Cromwell.

All the same, trust him for now, Cromwell. I'm certain the King of Gallia will come with the appropriate ships."

"Y-yes! I'm sorry!"

Cromwell, the ruler of Albion, knelt at the feet of his secretary, his face stained with tears. Sheffield knelt down with him, one hand on his shoulder, the other entwined with the fingers of his right hand.

"So, may I please have the Ring of Andvari?"

Cromwell quickly bobbed his head up and down, and removed the ring. He dropped it into Sheffield's hand, who gave him a beautiful smile.

"Good job, Cromwell. Now go, enjoy yourself for the rest of the day. A king can get some rest every now and then."

"Yes, Sheffield."

The leader of Albion quickly sprinted off, and after he left, Sheffield stood up, her expression now full of disgust. She needed to wash her hands. They were only fit to touch one person, the person who was truly fit to rule Helgekinia.

"Master Joseph… it's only a matter of time, my lord…"


	27. The Hanged Man: Chapter 15

"_He's about to complete the greatest trick a liar ever played on history._

_His truth will be the truth._

_But only if we lives, and we die."_

_Captain John Price._

…

…

The eighth day of the Silver Pentecostal arrived. It was the holiest day of the holiday, one that was supposed to celebrate a great victory wrought by Brimir. It was a day of revelry and laughter, where men from across Helgekinia would dance and sing.

But in the war headquarters of the Tristanian forces in Albion, a Princess was kneeling in front of an idol of Brimir. She was dressed in black and silently prayed, her hands clasping a worn Holy Book of Brimir. While she did so, she heard a knock on the entrance to the main room.

"It is open."

She spoke those words without breaking her prayer or even opening her eyes, but she heard the door open and a pair of footsteps walk in. They stopped some distance behind her and waited for her to finish her prayers to Brimir. Eventually she finished and closed her book, before standing and looking at the person who had entered.

"What is it, Napoleon?"

The Emperor shrugged his shoulders at those words.

"Nothing. I decided to head to these headquarters for now. I already talked with the soldiers earlier this morning, and none of the other generals have been here ever since I informed them of my partner's departure a week ago. Even if there is no fighting, there's plenty of daily preparation to be doing that has been neglected over the truce."

Even while wearing clothes of mourning, the Princess couldn't help but giggle.

"You really are earnest, Napoleon. Always moving up and forth, chatting with all the soldiers. I'll say that they've probably seen more of you then they have of me."

"It's good to be noticed by the men. They're more willing to fight for someone they're truly loyal to. That said, their loyalty will always be towards you, Princess."

"Thank you very much."

Henrietta curtsied in response to that compliment, but then silence again took hold between the two. She then asked the question that really mattered to her.

"Do you know when Louise will return?"

"You know she left eight days ago. I had her promise she would be back before the truce ended. We will still need her."

Henrietta groaned at those words.

"Why, Napoleon? I know Cattleya from my childhood days with Louise. She was a wonderful girl, and Louise truly did love her. She needs to be there for as long as possible if Cattleya really is that ill."

"It's a war, Princess. You know that."

"Still…"

She sighed as she thought about her dear friend, and how worried Louise must be right now. But she nodded.

"Fine. I don't think Albion will attack yet anyways. I can't say they won't break the truce, but wouldn't they do it at the end?"

Napoleon shrugged at those words.

"Who knows? But besides, Princess, I just wanted to say that you've done a very good job in this war. Keeping the various groups under you in line, ensuring discipline, having this invasion continue without any problems. You truly have done well so far in your reign."

"What are you saying?" Henrietta laughed. "I'll get better yet. I'm still young, Napoleon. I have a ways to go until I become a truly just princess."

Napoleon chuckled in response to those words, but then the tone of Henrietta's voice changed.

"Napoleon, I do have something I would like to ask you."

"What is it?"

Henrietta noticeably hesitated for a few moments, and Napoleon could see that she was struggling on the proper words. However, they finally spilled out.

"The nobles at home are telling me that since I am at war, I should proclaim an heir. I'm sure you've heard by now, but my mother's incredibly ill. She can't be expected to run the country, but I'm the last of my bloodline left. I have no direct siblings. To tell the truth, I've had very few friends. If something happens to me, then we don't really know who will hold power.

But Louise is a friend. And she is a scion of one of the most prestigious noble families, the Vallieres. I'm thinking of officially making her my heir, making her the ruler of Tristain. What do you think?"

She noticed that Napoleon's expression went instantly blank, concealing all of his internal thoughts. But after staring at the ground in deep thought for a few moments, he responded.

"If just a Valliere, why Louise? The Duchess is capable in her own right."

Henrietta shook her head.

"Duchess Karin would make a good ruler. But the fact is that picking a Valliere isn't something without risk. They're one of the most powerful noble families and have a good relation with the Royal Family, but because of that power, there are a lot of families whom are suspicious and scared of them. Picking Karin would just confirm those fears, which is something most of those nobles would ever accept. They would be more pliable with a younger, more inexperienced person, one whom wouldn't be as likely to turn Tristania into a Valliere fiefdom as they fear."

"Hmmmmm."

Napoleon stroked his hand against his chin, and then the stony blank expression broke into a grin.

"I am impressed, Henrietta. You really have thought about this decision thoroughly."

"It's what a sovereign is supposed to do, right? Picking the person who will succeed her is one of the most important things we do. But Napoleon, you have been closer with my friend than anyone else for a long time. You're her partner. What would you think if she was to be my heir?"

"It is her decision. But I would have no problems with it."

It was phrased with honesty and clarity, and Henrietta nodded.

"I'm glad to hear that. I'll probably announce it to everyone in a few days, right before the truce ends. But tonight, I and the generals will be attending services at the most magnificent temple in Saxe-Gotha, in the middle of the town. Napoleon, you should come and worship Brimir. You could understand the power which Brimir wields."

"I'm afraid I must decline."

She sighed with disappointment, and then gazed around the headquarters. So many generals and nobles had come here regularly, but it was still such a drab place. No decorations, a few Tristanian flags, and tons and tons of reports and papers.

"Well, without Louise, what are you doing tonight then?"

"Planning."

Henrietta blinked with surprise at those words.

"There's still a war going on. Even if we're not fighting, we can prepare so that the attack the minute the truce ends is better."

Napoleon finished speaking and then walked past Henrietta, to a stack of papers lying on a nearby table.

"Letters and notices are always waiting to be read, Princess. You can go. I'll deal with this."

"Thank you, Napoleon."

The Princess once again curtsied at the fellow monarch, and then made for the exit. But she was then stopped by a shout from Napoleon.

"Princess!"

She turned around and looked at him. Napoleon was holding a letter, not looking at Henrietta in the eye.

"Thank you. For everything."

Henrietta nodded in acknowledgment.

"The same to you, Napoleon. I'd like to thank you for everything, for saving my country at La Rochelle. I promise, after this war is over, I'd like to do something for both you and Louise."

And with those words, she opened the door and strode out. Napoleon gazed at the direction she went, and then pulled out a chair. Sitting down on it, he began to write.

…

"Are you sure this will work, Sheffield?"

Cromwell couldn't help but nervously ask. The two had snuck out of the city, and were now walking along a mountain path in the middle of the night. A shadow moved, and Cromwell couldn't help but jump. Sheffield hit him across the head.

"Stop sniveling, Cromwell. It's unbecoming of a ruler."

"Y-yes, Sheffield."

"And as for your question. What if it doesn't? If it doesn't, Cromwell, you're doomed. You, I mean we, have about twenty thousand men, and a large proportion of your army consists of new soldiers, with barely any proper recruiting and training. Tristain has about thirty-five thousand men right now in Saxe-Gotha. They are all proper soldiers to a man. You will lose sooner or later, even if you are on the defensive.

So trust me, Cromwell. This plan will work. You have travelled on this mountain path before, have you not?"

The former priest bobbed his head up and down repeatedly.

"It's a path I walked along to deal with my flock in the past. There's a river which leads to Saxe-Gotha about a half-mile to the west. That's what you need, right?"

"Yes. Let me ask you, Cromwell, this Ring of Andvari, what can you do with it?"

The priest hesitated for a moment before answering such a simple question.

"It revives the dead with Void Magic, right?"

"Not exactly. This is a Ring which uses the Ancient magic of Water. This means that it can be used for other purposes."

Sheffield glanced over at Cromwell, a cruel smile lighting her face.

"But I want to confirm with you. The remaining Albion forces are ready?"

"Yes. I've appointed a new commander at last, General Hawkins. They've already been marching for most of the day."

"Excellent. We will finish this war then once and for all. We will unite Helgekinia completely under your rule, Cromwell. I promise you that."

The two marched to the nearby river, and Sheffield took the ring and knelt down. Cromwell could see a light shine on her forehead, but he did not dare to ask what it was. Instead, he focused his gaze to the ring. After a few moments of the light shining, the ring melted. The leader of Albion gasped as the remains of the Ring dripped into the river.

Sheffield stood up at last, and then looked at Cromwell. She cut him off before he could say the obvious question.

"Do not worry about the ring, Cromwell. This will ensure our victory. I'm sure you know sacrifices must be made in wartime, right?"

…

The temple bells chimed as Henrietta walked in the magnificent building. Wales and Agnes followed her, and the rest of the generals accompanied them. One or two staggered slightly from drink, but they still marched on.

The eighth day of the Silver Pentecostal represented a day of celebration for the victory Brimir had won. But the ninth day was a day of repentance and mourning, both for the losses which had been taken on that day as well as for the sins which each person in Helgekinia had committed over the year. To pray at the largest temple in Saxe-Gotha the minute the ninth day began was truly a mark of holiness, and so they all went.

A pair of Tristanian guards at the church opened the doors, and the group walked in. But the church appeared to be empty, save for one person who was sitting on a bench by the door. Henrietta took a few steps forward in confusion.

"Where is the priest?" She wondered aloud.

"The priest is currently in the back of the room. There was a person who was gravely injured, and he is tending to him right now."

It was the person on the bench who spoke. He wore a hood over his face. All the same, Henrietta felt that she had heard that voice somewhere before.

Shaking off her thoughts, she moved forward with the rest of her group. Henrietta, Wales, and Agnes sat in the first row, while the generals took their seats directly behind them. Opening the worn book, Henrietta began to cite a prayer.

"_Verily We have granted thee a manifest Victory_

_That Brimir may forgive thee thy faults of the past and those to follow, and guide Thee on the Proper Way;_

_It is He Who sent down tranquility into the hearts of the Believers, that they may add faith to their faith; for to all belong the Forces of the heavens and the earth; and Brimir is Full of Knowledge and Wisdom._

_In order that ye may believe in Brimir and that ye may assist and honor Him, and celebrate His praise morning and evening."_

BOOM. BOOM.

Henrietta would have continued, but then she could hear explosions. And the sound wasn't that particularly far away.

"What was that?" Henrietta asked.

With a confused expression at his face, Wimpffen pointed at the guards.

"You two. Get out there and see what's going on."

The pair saluted and left. Unsure of what to do, the group milled about. Henrietta looked at the book and tried to pray, but for some reasons, the words wouldn't come out. She couldn't suppress a massive feeling of unease that had appeared within her the minute she had heard those noises. The fact that the explosions were followed by other noises which she could not recognize did not help.

"It's an attack!"

One guard ran back, but only one. His helmet had been knocked off.

"Albion's launched a surprise attack. They're already incredibly close to the church! We need to get out of here!"

"What?"

The generals were completely unable to conceal their shock, and Henrietta rounded on De Poitiers.

"How did they get into the city already without us knowing? What happened to the sentries? The scouts?"

"Y-Your Majesty…"

There was a moment of silence in the church, only interrupted by the screams and sounds of battle outside. But Henrietta's face grew far paler, and she grabbed the collar of her most prestigious general.

"General De Poitiers. Please tell me that you have not neglected even the most basic modes of army preparation over the course of this truce."

"I-I planned to get to work after this holy day…"

An embarrassed silence filled the temple after his confession.

"Forget it."

With an expression of total irritation, Henrietta let go of De Poitiers, and the general stumbled onto the ground. He picked himself up and dusted off his coat.

"Anyways, Your Majesty, it's too dangerous here! We need to retreat to the military headquarters and figure out what to do, now!"

Without any further words, De Poitiers dashed off, and after a moment of watching him run, the rest of the group followed him. De Poitiers ran through the doorway, and waited in front of them in the outer courtyard, waving them forward.

But right when the first general reached the threshold, he was violently thrown back into the church by an invisible force.

"A barrier?"

A strong wall of wind blocked the entrance. One of the other generals, after a moment's hesitation, attempted to charge past it. He was thrown back with the same force as the first general.

"What's going on? How did it get put up like this all of a sudden?"  
>Wimpffen looked around in confusion, and then his eyes fell on the hooded man who was now sitting next to the group huddled around the door. He had not moved in the slightest ever since the noise and fighting had begun. Suspicious, Wimpffen drew his wand and marched towards him.<p>

"Hey, who are you? Do you know something about this? Get rid of that cloak anyways, you-"

STAB

It was over before it began. The hooded man had been a holding a wand in his left hand, and he expertly stabbed Wimpffen in the neck. Blood spilling out, the Chief of Staff clawed at his throat before collapsing to the ground.

"Wimpffen!"

"Stay back!"

Henrietta and the generals dashed towards their fallen comrade, but Agnes had shouted a warning, drawing out a pair of pistols. The man who had killed Wimpffen had jumped back a couple rows, his hood falling off of his face. The right side of his face was completely unrecognizable, but the left side was that of someone whom every member here knew.

"Wardes. Is that wall your spell?"

The former Knight-Captain bowed with a flourish.

"A pleasure to meet you, Princess Henrietta. It's good to see that you have been healthy throughout this conquest. Well, for now. But now my master has deemed that you must be put out of the way."

"Your master won't win, Wardes. Cromwell will lose no matter what cowardly tactics he uses, as Brimir is on our side. Surrender and I do promise to treat you well."

Wardes gave a sardonic smile, holding the wand in his left hand and pointing one finger at Henrietta.

"When did I say Cromwell was my master?"

"Huh?"

"It doesn't matter. You won't live long enough to know what I'm talking about anyways."

He still gave off that sarcastic grin. The generals pulled out their wands, but stopped. Henrietta stepped forward with her staff out. She gave off a killing aura which was incredibly palpable and dwarfed the small one that she had given Napoleon and De Poitiers during their fight.

"A traitor is front of me. Someone who threatens to kill me, kill all of us including the one I love. And he is the only one between me and escape. I will kill you, Wardes."

She raised her staff, but then stopped. Wardes didn't seem the least bit perturbed either by the words she said or by the Princess's anger. Instead, he once again pointed his finger.

"Tsk, tsk, Henrietta. Rage doesn't let you think carefully about your surroundings."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, we are in a temple."

Henrietta's eyes widened in shock at those words, and Wardes continued.

"I know your specialty, Henrietta. You can combine wind and water magic to create a powerful tornado. But what will happen to this temple if you use it? And what will the residents of Saxe-Gotha think if you destroy their greatest temple?"

Henrietta ground her teeth at the realization, but then a shot was fired. Wardes ducked and jumped back a few rows. Behind her, Agnes threw away the pistol which she had just used, and pulled out a sword.

"There is no need for you to fight, Your Majesty. I will take care of this traitor."

Wardes now stood in front of the altar. As Henrietta stepped back and Agnes took her place, he bowed.

"Well met, then, dog of a failed country. It doesn't matter. Someone who can't cast magic, a commoner, and a woman on top of that? Don't waste my time."

"You act like I've never killed a mage before, Wardes. Besides, how much magic can you use since you need to maintain that wall of wind?"

"I'm not maintaining it."

"Huh?"

Wardes shrugged his one arm.

"Or maybe I am. Who knows? It's not particularly important to you anyways. Goodbye, dog of Tristain."

He dashed forward, and Agnes met him. As the two clashed with wand and sword, Henrietta turned towards De Poitiers, who had continued to wait outside for orders.

"Get to the headquarters! Bonaparte will be there. Please, De Poitiers, for once work together and rally the necessary troops!"

Normally De Poitiers would have objected to working with the erratic Captain, but the situation was too desperate and his sovereign's plea was too sincere. Giving a quick salute, he dashed towards a horse and set off to the headquarters to the south.

…

Louise fretted about in her carriage as she continued to her family's estate. She would arrive at the mansion within a few hours, but even so she continued to fret. Why did travel have to be so slow? It shouldn't take eight days to travel across a country this small, there had to be a better way. She couldn't gain any peace of mind until she arrived and saw her sister.

She knew she hadn't been eating or sleeping well for the past few days. She had been having that dream again. Where she found herself on a ship and ended up dying from her own Void Magic. It had happened two times over the past eight days, and it continued to worry her.

It was funny, she thought. Before she summoned Napoleon, she above all was obsessed with being recognized, with being noticed by her mother and sisters and peers and everyone. She had hated herself for her powerlessness. But now here she was, with magic which as far as she knew, no one had possessed since the days of Brimir himself. And she was more worried these days than ever before.

If you had power, you had to protect and help others. That was what she had known, what she had been taught throughout her whole life. But who was she supposed to protect? Her family? Her partner? Her Princess? By visiting the side of her beloved sister, she was putting Napoleon and Henrietta in danger, and she knew that even as her partner had boasted that everything would be fine. The responsibilities which came with her power were truly terrifying, she admitted.

The carriage stopped, and after looking outside the window, she saw that she was at the last village before her mansion. The coachmen stopped by and told her that the horses needed a short rest before the last part of the journey, and she nodded in response. She decided to hop outside and walk a bit with her thoughts.

Once she stepped on the ground, she moved a small lake which was by the village, and she looked out at it. She picked up a stone and threw it into the lake and then sat there for a while.

"Ah, it's Louise! Welcome home!"

She turned around and saw an old female villager walking towards the lake carrying a basket. The villager waded into the lake, and Louise watched as she began gathering some herbs.

"So, Louise, how are you doing? What brings you back so soon?"

Louise paused for a moment in confusion before bending her head down.

"Cattleya. Cattleya is very sick, and I need to go to her and be by her side."

"Cattleya is sick? Who told you that, dear Louise?"

"What do you mean? I got a letter from Jerome."

The old lady shook her head, bending down to grab a branch.

"Dear Cattleya is fine. She came by this village just yesterday,"

"What are you talking about? I got a letter from Jerome saying she was sick!"

"But that can't be right. You probably got that letter a while ago if you went directly from your school to here. Maybe Cattleya was very sick then, but yesterday she was here. My son sold her a new bird, with very nice feathers. It clearly likes your sister very much."

She finished filling her basket, and waded out of the lake before sneezing.

"A-choo! My, my, someday that cold water will be the death of my old bones. It's good to see you, Louise, but Cattleya seems fine. You should go back to your school. I wish I could have gone when I was your age, you know."

Giving a final wave, the old lady slowly shuffled off, leaving Louise by the lake. She stood up in complete confusion.

"Is Cattleya not really sick? What should I do? Where should I go?"

After thinking about it a bit longer, Louise came to a decision.

…

"Napoleon!"

De Poitiers burst into the doors of the headquarters. Over his ride, he really had seen that the situation was far worse than he thought. An Albion surprise attack was bad enough, but the fact that Tristain forces outnumbered Albion likely meant that they could still win if they organized themselves. But it wasn't just that. Albion had used some weird magic before the attack, and so a large number of Tristan's soldiers had been enchanted towards betrayal. Some were running to join the Albion forces, while others were just fighting their own comrades right there on the street. He had run into a pair of those fake soldiers, and while he had managed to strike them down, the expression in their eyes was unsettling. It appeared as if their souls had been sucked and all that was left was a mindless husk obeying some powerful Albion mage.

But that wasn't the important thing, he thought as he ran in the room. Princess Henrietta was the priority. He had to rescue her, he had to get available soldiers to rescue Her Majesty, he had to! But as he looked around the drab encampments, he was perplexed by the sight in front of him.

Napoleon was alone at his desk. He was writing something, and only casually looked up at the heavily breathing General. But it was strange. From everything De Poitiers knew about the Captain, he should have heard about the attack. Even now, De Poitiers could hear the screams and explosions. But then Napoleon should have charged at the front and rallied his man. After all, it was how this man fought. So what was he doing?

"Captain Bonaparte, it's bad, the situation is urgent! Albion has attacked us, turned our men against us with some strange magic. And they've surrounded the church. I managed to escape, but all the generals, Wales, Her Majesty is trapped in there! We need to get to the barracks, get all the men available to rescue Her Majesty!"

Napoleon looked up at De Poitiers, and then quickly finished the letter. He folded it up, sealed it, and then clasped his hands together. But he said nothing, and this lack of reaction only served to anger De Poitiers even more. Completely frustrated, he moved forward, his hands waving in his anger.

"Do you understand me, Captain? The Princess is in danger! We need to send all available men in Saxe-Gotha to rescue her immediately! All reinforcements, everyone! Get that damn girl who's your master and hurl her there to save Her Majesty right now!"

Even as spittle flew from De Poitier's lips in his panicked rage, Napoleon seemed completely unperturbed. His left hand slipped into his coat and he leaned a bit forward. He then said two words.

"What reinforcements?"

"What?"

De Poitiers slammed his hands down on the desk and shoved his face into Napoleon's.

"The reinforcements needed to save Princess Henrietta! Have you lost your wits in this attack, Captain? Are you telling me that you never faced an attack like this! I've heard you call yourself an Emperor, but what kind of soldier doesn't fi-"

BANG

It had been now almost four months since Napoleon Bonaparte had been summoned on the fields of the Tristain Academy, when he had made his first proud declaration to a pink-haired girl. He had seen many things, travelled across the land, met many people all while working together with Louise.

And now, for the first time, he finally used the pistol which he had carried with him from his old world. Even if he hadn't used them in a long time, the Gandalfr runes worked perfectly. They grabbed the gun under his shirt, and then he effortlessly shoved the tip of the gun under De Poitier's chin before the general could react.

De Poitier's face was torn open and he died almost instantly. But even as he toppled backward in his last seconds, he was unable to conceal the expression of shock and horror at the realization that had just occurred. He landed on the ground with a thud, and after a moment's silence, Napoleon stood up, wiping the blood off of his face. But the remaining specks did not remotely hide the demonic smile that lay on his face as he stared at the fallen general.

"I can't believe it actually worked."

He had planned it, of course from the very beginning. It was a shame, he thought. He respected Henrietta. She was a good princess, who would have helped Tristain a lot. But the fact was that she was in his way, and overthrowing a princess as popular and beloved as she was would never have happened, especially since nearly all of the people under him, whether Louise, Giono, or the Guard, were still more loyal to the Princess than to him. Furthermore, while she had asked him about declaring Louise her heir, she had never made it public. But the threat of her declaring an heir had been real, and would have kept him from his desire of power. Any heir whom Henrietta would pick would almost certainly be able to leech off her legacy to gain true legitimacy.

Sure, he thought, he could have eventually become the power behind the throne to Louise if she ascended the throne. But he could have done that with Henrietta as well. He would not settle for being the leader behind the throne, he wanted the throne for himself as well.

So the Princess had to go, and it had to be before she picked or created an heir. As a result, from the minute he had landed in Albion, he had played as a spy for the Reconquista. It was because of him that the Albion army knew where Henrietta and the generals were. It was because of him that Louise was out of the way, though he was grateful that the girl loved Cattleya so much. If she had stopped to think, she would have wondered why Jerome sent the letter as opposed to the Duke or Duchess herself. But he knew that Louise probably knew the Duke or Duchess's handwriting, and thus he could never forge a letter written by them. Asking Giono to do that would have left a witness. And of course, it was because of him that Albion knew that she had gone, though he had kept the nature of the Void mage intentionally vague.

Of course, it was a reciprocal relation. Through playing spy, he had learned about the attack before anyone else in Tristain. He naturally hadn't mentioned it to the generals. But he really would have to thank them, not that he would ever get the chance. If even one of them had bothered to actually check on the headquarters or even think about the war during the course of the truce, they would have realized that someone had used their authority to move a little under 15,000 of the 35,000 Tristanian soldiers south to Rosais over the last few days. It was a shame he couldn't move more, but sending that many men to begin with without being noticed was a huge gamble. But as always, Destiny was watching over his star and he pulled that strategy off without a fuss. There were still 20,000 soldiers, but they wouldn't all have fallen prey Cromwell's magic, and if he could rally and save about eight thousand of them, he would be confident of victory.

He took the now used pistol and set it in De Poitier's hand. Then he heard footsteps approaching from the front door, and he quickly moved behind the desk. He was standing behind it, staring at the dead general, when two soldiers burst in.

"Sir Bonaparte! We heard a noise from the headquarters. What is going on?"

They quickly looked at the dead figure with a pistol in his hand, but Napoleon cut them off before they could wonder what happened.

"The general here has committed suicide as a result of his failures to properly prepare for the counterattack. As a result of his actions, I, Napoleon Bonaparte, am for the moment in command of all Tristanian forces in Albion."

He buckled his saber and put on his hat. He moved towards the entrance looked at both of them.

"Listen to me. Some of our men have already managed to escape the attack. But we need to get out there and rally and save as many of our men as we can. Soldiers, I realize you are terrified of the nature of this vicious Albion attack, but we will win this. Do you understand?"

The men had initially been panicking. They had been separated from their regiment which had disintegrated as soldiers fought one another, and had wondered on what to do. But they knew Napoleon. Everyone did. The constantly talking commander who was always talking and exhorting the troops in the camps was now in front of them. And above all, right now, these men needed a leader.

So they snapped their boots together.

"Yes, sir!"

"Good, now follow me!"

Napoleon strode, his boots clicking against the wooden floor as the men followed him out to the courtyard. And as they left, the doors swung back and closed with De Poitier's corpse lying on the floor.

…

Agnes threw the last pistol onto the floor. Ten shots, all of them missed. When she got out of here, she would really need to practice her shooting again.

She breathed heavily, and so did Wardes. It was clear that he wasn't seeking to win. Some of the generals were standing alongside Agnes, while others were protecting Henrietta from attack. Against this many foes, even the former Captain of the Griffin Knights couldn't hope to win.

"Surrender, Wardes," Agnes shouted. "We'll just throw you into the dungeons for the rest of your life, not execute you."

Wardes continued to pant, but then dashed forward with his wand upraised. He swung it at Agnes, only for it to be blocked with a wall of water. As he gasped in shock, he stared at Henrietta, who had her staff out.

"I may not be able to cast my tornado on you Wardes, but I can do this! Agnes!"

"Yes, Your Majesty!"

The Musketeer Captain moved forward, her knife in her left hand. And with a fluid gesture, she stabbed Wardes in the chest. He fell backward, and made to get up, only for a coterie of generals to stand over him, their wands ready to strike. Agnes pushed past some of them and pointed a sword at the traitor.

"You've lost, Wardes. Release the wind spell and get us out of here."

Wardes gave a harsh laugh and then coughed as blood dribbled out of his mouth. But then as he laughed, everyone heard another noise. They had no time to pay attention during the battle, but they realized that the sounds of fighting had slowly petered out over the course of the fight with Wardes. And now that it was replaced by something else.

The sound of drums. And then the blaring of trumpets. It was a jovial sound, a light march that initially seemed more fitting for the parade ground. But while Henrietta blinked in confusion, every other Tristanian gave a horrified expression. And Wardes laughed again at their faces.

"You recognize that song, do you not, Agnes? The "Slit Throat" song, indicating that no quarter will be given to enemies? Besides, something I think you will like to know."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a strange talisman. It appeared to be a small glass stone.

"This stone? It's the source of that wall. It keeps you from escaping this temple. But-"

"NO!"

Agnes realized what he was about to say and immediately drew her sword back for a strike. But it was too late. Wardes crushed the stone, right before the sword sliced off his left hand.

"Guh!"

He coughed in pain, but even then he couldn't keep the leer off of his face as he finished his sentence.

"It also keeps my friends from entering it."

With those words, the wall of wind disappeared. And the generals and everyone in the church looked outside. They were surrounded. They couldn't tell how many, but at least hundreds, maybe thousands. Almost all of them had swords out, as magic and guns would be of limited value in the small enclosed area of the temple.

"Long Live Albion!"

With those words, they charged. The remaining Tristanian generals held their wands out, ready to strike. But Agnes took her position to the right of her queen, waiting for the attack.

"Your Majesty?"

"Yes, Agnes?"

"Are you afraid?"

The Princess shook her head to Albion, much to Agnes's surprise.

"No. There is nothing to be afraid of. I've bought time for Napoleon and De Poitiers to get the rest of the soldiers, and I was praying to Brimir before the attack began."

The Princess held out her wand, and a wall of water blocked the entranceways. But almost instantly she could feel it being battered by magical attacks. It wouldn't hold out long, and then there was nothing more to be done. Even at the cost of her life, she would not use Tornado destroy this temple with her own hands.

Well, there was one thing. Still maintaining the spell, she turned to her left, to Wales who also stood beside her. He gripped her hand with his own, his other hand holding a sword.

"Wales?"

"Yes?"

She smiled at the one she loved.

"Kiss me."

With a sad smile, Wales obliged. For these last moments of her life, Henrietta thought, she could abandon her pretense as a Princess of Tristain. As the water wall collapsed and the Albion soldiers charged in, the Princess once again became a young girl, fighting alongside her lover. She watched Agnes charge in with her sword, and begin to valiantly fight against ten Albion soldiers. The generals did the same.

Meanwhile, Wales and Henrietta parted their lips. Holding the other's hands, the two grasped their weapons and charged at their enemy one final time. And as Henrietta fired another wall of water at her enemies, she had one final thought run through her mind.

"Goodbye, Louise. I'm so sorry."

…

**END OF PART II: THE HANGED MAN.**


	28. The Emperor: Chapter 1

**PART III:**

**THE EMPEROR**

_Power is not a means; it is an end. One does not establish a dictatorship in order to safeguard a revolution; one makes the revolution in order to establish the dictatorship._

_Nineteen Eighty-Four_

…

…

"Please, Lady Karin, I beg of you…"

"Silence. I have made my decision."

The head of the Valliere family sat upright on a throne in the main hall of her estate, which was absolutely Spartan in its lack of decoration and pomposity. A single long wooden table was in the room, and above Kartin's throne rested the Valliere coat of arms. There were no further decorations. Sunlight streamed through a high window and shone on the person in front of her.

This person was the Count of Noyon, the ruler of an unremarkable and small peerage. Now he prostrated himself before the Duchess, not even daring to look on her face as tears crumpled down his cheeks.

"It was just a mistake! A small mistake, by a young boy who was just having some fun!"

"A mistake? Young?"

Karin's expression had been a mixture of boredom and contempt, but now she flared up. Even as he refused to look at her face, the Count could feel her eyes bore into his body.

"Your son went on a drunken rampage! Torched several buildings in one of my villages! Killed my people through his fire magic! Had his way with some of my peasants! And he's 14, Noyon! That is an age at which one should be held accountable for his actions!"

"Of course he should, Duchess! I understand, and if you just release him into my custody, I promise to treat him with severity! I'll forbid him from leaving the castle, lock him in the dungeon, I'll do whatever you desire! But you're going to execute him! Execute my son! You can't even do that, you don't have the right!"

"What are you talking about, Noyon? You know I can. He destroyed my territory; therefore I have the right to do what I want with your son. That is the law which we nobles have. If my daughters break the law in your so-called estate, then you could punish them. And thus the same applies for my estate and your son."

The stern voice of the Duchess, without a shred of mercy, indicated a tone of finality, but Noyon chose to ignore it. He wailed again and groveled even harder on the throne.

"Please, Duchess. I'll give you my lands, my wealth, anything you want! Just let my son go!"

And then Noyon forgot to breathe. Karin had been angry at him before, but now she changed to a pure killing aura, one which oppressed and fell on the Count like a pile of bricks. With all of his effort, he lifted his head up to take a small peek at the Duchess's face and instantly regretted his decision. Her eyes had literally turned red in their fury as she ground out her next words.

"Are you suggesting that I am a person who will let justice escape for a piece of land, Noyon?"

The Count was far too terrified to give a proper response. He crawled away from the Duchess on his back, his mouth quavering as he whimpered like a dog. No intelligible words came out. He was halfway across the room before Karin extinguished her killing aura. Nevertheless, he still continued to crawl out of the room in terror as Karin stared at the Count with utter contempt.

"Leave right now, Noyon. You can come back in a few days to give your last farewells to your son. But do not appear me before then, and do not attempt to stay my hand."

The Count finally got to his feet as he reached the entrance, but the expression of terror did not abate. He stumbled to the door, and pushed them open. Then he stared at the Duchess one last time and shouted.

"Her Majesty will hear of this, Duchess! Mark my words!"

And without waiting for a response, he ran out of the room. Karin listened at the fading footsteps, her expression still stern. Still, she couldn't help but wonder as she thought about the Count's words.

"How long has Her Majesty been toying around in Albion now?" She wondered aloud.

"Well, as today is the thirteenth day of the Silver Pentecostal, I would say that it has been about nine weeks, My Lady."

She heard familiar footsteps come from a room behind her. It was her butler, Jerome. He walked towards the Duchess while pushing a cart with a tea kettle on it. Stopping at the same spot where the Count had been groveling before Karin, he began to prepare the tea for his master. In the meantime, Karin watched her butler and continued to talk.

"I still don't know what Her Majesty is doing. She should have known better than to go fight in a war directly. We have enough of an advantage that she doesn't need to be there anyways. Their fleet is destroyed and their armies are outnumbered. As arrogant as he is, General De Poitiers is fully capable of handling this by himself."

"Her Majesty is protected by the best troops Tristain has to offer. Do you trust in Brimir to keep her safe, My Lady?"

Jerome handed the cup of tea to Karin. Even as it was still boiling hot, she did not give the slightest wince as she clasped the hot china. One who followed the Rule of Steel as fervently as she did had to close her mind from little things like pain anyways.

"I trust in Brimir, Jerome but I also trust in weapons and strategies. They are the greatest protections one can have."

The Duchess finished her speech and finally took sip from her cup. She raised an eyebrow.

"This is a new flavor, Jerome. Where did you get this from?"

Jerome bowed at those words.

"I thought you would like it. I've managed to secure a crate of special tea plants of Rub al Khali. I hope her Majesty will enjoy the flavor."

Karin simply took another drink, her eyes closed.

"I will admit that I enjoy the flavor. Include it every now and then. By the way, Jerome, where is the guest?"

Jerome stopped at that question. For once, he refused to look at his master.

"She is at the usual place, My Lady."

"I see," Karin observed. "I understand why she remains there. But business comes before all else. I will need an update soon and I would like to speak with her. Jerome, make sure that she attends tonight's dinner."

"Your Ladyship, perhaps it would be best to give her a little time."

Karin shook her head.

"No. I went to a lot of effort and used a lot of men to get them out, and I managed to do it without any of the other nobles finding out. I want it done as soon as possible."

The butler bowed and departed, pushing the tea cart away. Karin remained on her throne. It was only when she knew the butler was gone that she murmured a few words.

"Brimir. Please, protect Her Majesty no matter what."

…

After he cleaned and washed the tea cart, Jerome left the kitchen and went outside. The Valliere family kept a large private garden by the estate, and he always enjoyed walking through it. The plants were currently sparse and bare given the winter climate, but he thought about how when spring came, the workers would begin planting herbs and flowers. Here, the new parsley. There, some rosemary. He had managed to obtain some of those tea plants as well. Ensuring that his master had access to all sorts of flavors was an important duty, after all.

At the far end of the garden was an orchard, the trees barren of both fruits and leaves. But at the orchard's edge, by a small brick wall which served as a boundary for the Valliere estate, the guest who Karin had asked about stood by herself. Jerome could see her blue skirt and white blouse, and he walked closer to the girl, stopping only when he was right behind her.

"Her Ladyship wishes to speak with you tomorrow night, Siesta."

The former maid did not turn around to greet the butler. She continued to gaze at the walls of the estate. After a moment, she responded, her voice distant and cold.

"What does she want, Jerome?"

"Her Ladyship is interested in hearing about an update about the translations for the books. She's a bit worried that it's going slowly."

"It is difficult work. If she wants it to go faster, than perhaps she should hire someone who can do it better."

Jerome shook her head, even though he knew Siesta couldn't see it with her back turned.

"Siesta, these are your books. It would not be right to have someone else attempt to translate them in Helgekinian. Besides, no one else we've tried has been able to make sense of them. Even Her Ladyship has attempted to peruse their books and discover their meaning without success, and she has never failed at anything she puts her mind towards. But as she desires to know of their contents immeadiately, she also wishes to know how you are progressing."

"You know perfectly well that if I had never told her who had been the first person to look at these books, she wouldn't have cared about them in the slightest."

"I do not believe that," Jerome said. "Her Ladyship is always interested in expanding her library."

"These are no ordinary books, Jerome. Karin will not just have them sit in a dusty library, and we both know that."

There was a moment of silence that followed his words. Then the butler spoke up, his tone softer towards Henrietta.

"Are you afraid Her Ladyship will break her promise?"

"Promise?"

Siesta scoffed at those words, and then turned towards the butler. He couldn't help but wince. She had a major scar on the left side of her cheek, one which deformed her lovely face. But that wasn't the worst of it, Jerome thought. It was the eyes. They were dead like a fish in a market, filled with sorrow and anger and hate.

"Why should I trust her, Jerome? The minute I get those books completely translated into Helgekinian, she'll throw me out of that castle. She'll have no more use for me."

"Her Ladyship will not do that, Siesta. You know that she promised. She said that she would take care of you and your brothers for the rest of their lives in exchange for this task. Even if that wasn't true, I can vouch that you are a more than capable maid. She has no reason to abandon all of you."

Siesta gave a sarcastic and bitter grin at those words.

"Do you think she's the first person who promised me a better life, Jerome? I remember when I worked at that academy. There was a nobleman who showed frequently, who talked about giving me everything I desired if he just worked for me. But I liked the castle, and refused to work for him.

Two months later, Andre Giono wrote an article about that nobleman. How he whipped his servants, put collars which manipulated their minds and ravaged their bodies, and that was only the top layer of everything he did. Sure, Henrietta arrested him after that furor. But suppose I had gone to work for him?

That man lied to me. Karin will lie to me. All of them lie. All of the nobles, all of the rich people, they lie. No, not just the rich people. Everyone lies."

"But-"

"Are you telling me they don't? Can you tell me that Karin, over the course of her entire life, has never lied?"

"Well…"

"You can't, can you?"

Well, the butler thought, he couldn't, but not for the reasons Siesta thought. But after mulling it over for a bit longer, he finally gave his answer.

"I can say that Her Ladyship has not lied ever since becoming the Duchess of the Valliere estate."

Siesta shrugged at those words.

"Perhaps. I have no reason to trust her. Or you, for that matter."

Jerome bowed his head in sorrow at those words.

"Siesta," he said. "I could plead with Her Ladyship. Tell her to give you some time to rest. You could use the time to heal, to play with your brothers. I've been told that in the Academy you were a bright young girl. It would be good for you to return to that."

"Heal?"

Siesta's voice quieted down significantly, but there was something dangerous in it. Jerome took a step back, but the former maid advanced upon the butler, her voice barely above a whisper.

"'Heal', you said? This scar can never be healed, Jerome. Nor can my memories. There is no escape from what happened to me. Do you have any idea of the hell I've been through after Tarbes?"

"Well, I-"

"I'M ASKING IF YOU KNOW WHAT I WENT THROUGH, JEROME!"

She rose up to a scream, and Jerome inadvertently shrank back. But then she stopped, once again looking out at the garden.

"I'm sorry. I have no right to yell at you. But you don't really know, do you?"

The butler hesitated for a moment, and then slowly nodded his head. Siesta gave a dark chuckle at the gesture.

"That's honest. I like that. So I'm going to tell you.

I watched my village, my home, burned to cinders by a friend and her magic, by someone whom I had let stay in my home and with my family for months. I watched my parents murdered by Albion soldiers. I watched the nearest city to my home, where refugees like me hoped to retreat to find a place to stay, burned to the ground by the Princess who was supposed to protect us. Her and my friend's partner, the first person I let have those books that Karin wants. And I saw them venerated for it. I saw the pamphlets which were printed out which showed them as heroes.

Who made them heroes? They weren't for me, or for any of us who lost everything. I had no home, nowhere to go. I couldn't even go back to my old job at the Academy, as now I had to care for six siblings by myself. All I had were my brothers, my sisters, and a bunch of useless books which I couldn't even sell as no one could understand them.

I ended up travelling with a soldier going home from the battlefield who said he could protect me. I didn't have a choice. But after a while, he tried to force himself on me. I resisted, and I got this."

She pointed her finger at her cheek, to the scar.

"And so I ended up wandering around Helgekinia with my family. No food, no work, nothing. I left the books in the forests near Tarbes, carrying one volume as an heirloom. When the Duke found me and the rest of my siblings, we were starving and almost completely without options. Heck, if it hadn't been for him giving us bread on a whim and then noticing the book I did carry, he wouldn't have helped me. I don't know what I would have done otherwise. I don't even want to think about it.

I lost everything because of my friends and because of our Princess. Tell me why I should trust anyone after that, Jerome."

She finished her story and turned back towards the garden. After thinking about it, Jerome quietly responded.

"I know people have done terrible things to you. But you must forgive. That is what Brimir tells us, that we must forgive those who do evil to us. Mercy is the highest charity that we can bestow, Siesta."

"Brimir, huh?" Siesta scoffed. "What right does Brimir have to tell me anything, Jerome? Do you know how much I prayed to him for deliverance, for aid? He did nothing. He never came to help me when I needed it, Jerome."

"Well, Brimir heard your prayers. That's why the Duke heard and helped you."

It happened in an instant. Siesta whirled around and took a few steps towards Jerome, her face blazing with rage.

SMACK.

It wasn't a slap. Siesta actually punched Jerome in the face. The combination of shock and the butler's old age caused him to topple, only for Siesta to seize him by the collar.

"He _helped _me, Jerome? Are you saying that Brimir _helped _me now with the Duke? Is that what you're telling me?"

"I-I didn't… I'm sorry, Siesta, I didn't mean to…"

"HE HELPED ME FAR TOO LATE!"

She slapped him across the face again. Hoisting the butler up, Siesta swung him around and half-dragged, half-pushed him to what she had been looking at. She pointed at four little mounds of earth, each with a cross on top and a name inscribed on them.

"Did Brimir help them, Jerome? They prayed as hard as I did. They worked as hard as me to try to get food or a place to sleep without getting rained on. So why did I survive, and they died? Why did Robin and Jean and Marie and Paul die? Why did Brimir not protect my brothers and sisters?"

"I…I…"

Jerome was too frightened by the young girl's anger and strength, and he stuttered helplessly. With a final push, Siesta flung the old man on the ground and watched him pick himself up and dust himself off.

"You don't know anything, Jerome. Don't ever mention Brimir to me. He doesn't exist. Or if he does, then he's just a vicious pathetic clown who mocks everyone, good and evil. If I go to heaven when I die, and encounter that man for the first time, I will spit in his face and dare him to punish me."

Jerome continued to stumble as he continued to raise one arm in self-defense. Instead, Siesta turned back towards her siblings' graves.

"Leave, Jerome. I'll return to the mansion shortly and have dinner with Karin. But I'm going to talk with Pierre and Emile, the only family I have left, before I discuss anything with Karin."

The butler nodded, but he did not leave. Instead, he adjusted his collar for a few moments before he spoke.

"Siesta. I have served the Vallieres for my entire life, and I do not envision ever leaving their side. But I know Her Ladyship extremely well. She does care for you and your brothers. And I absolutely promise this. She will follow any deal she makes to the letter. If she promised to take care of you and your siblings in exchange for you translating those books, then she will do so. I swear this to you, on my honor as a butler and a servant to the Valliere family.

So please, trust Her Ladyship."

"Jerome, I asked you to leave."

It was a crisp and rapid response. Siesta still did not look at him, and the tone of her voice indicated that the conversation was final.

Jerome gave a bow and then tromped off, leaving her alone. Siesta still stood there, watching the graves of her siblings. It was only when she could no longer hear his footsteps that she broke down sobbing, both for those she had lost and for herself.

He didn't deserve it, she knew that. He hadn't attempted to fight back, and Siesta knew that he wouldn't mention to Karin the fact that she had attacked an elderly man. He had just sat there and taken her attack. And what was she doing, just fighting another commoner anyways? There were others she wanted to hurt. Make them realize just what they had sacrificed on their altar of victory and glory.

She thought of her siblings, the ones who rested in the earth in front of her. She tried to remember every detail of them. How they laughed, cried, played with her when she had come from the academy. She had to remember everything. The happy days, when they had made a garland of flowers for her, as well as the moments when even as they lay starving, had prayed to Brimir for forgiveness and mercy. She had prayed alongside them on those days. But ever since those four had taken their last breaths, she had never prayed since. She had to protect Emile and Pierre with her life, ensure that they could find happiness. And only then could she think about the only thing that she wanted now with her own life.

Revenge.

…

_May Brimir be merciful to us, bless us, _

_And cause his face to shine on us. _

_That your way may be known on earth, _

_And your salvation among all nations,_

_Let the peoples praise you, Brimir. _

_Let all the peoples praise you._

_Oh let the nations be glad and sing for joy, _

_For you will judge the peoples with equity, _

_And govern all of Helgekinia._

A group of nobles sat around a table, their heads bowed and their eyes closed in prayer. They finished the chants for the night of the thirteenth day of the Silver Pentecostal, and then opened their eyes. They glanced at each other, their hearts filled with good cheer for this holy night. And then they looked at the head of the table.

It was empty. Some of the nobles groaned, others shrugged, and some put their hands in front of their face. Only one person close to the head of the table stood up. She was a beautiful woman with lovely blond hair, but now her expression was flustered and irritated.

"Are you telling me that he slipped out while we were all praying? What is the matter with him! Everyone, wait here while I go find His Majesty!"

Some of the nobles continued to grumble, but they did nothing more. The woman ran out of the main entrance. After wandering around the room leading to the dining hall, she saw that her king was by the balcony of his palace. That would normally be fine. However, he was standing on top of the narrow balcony ledge as opposed to the balcony itself, and the woman gave a shriek at seeing her lord do such a thing.

The king turned around, his blue hair and a fine blue beard framing his face. It was handsome and rugged, almost as if it had been chiseled from pure marble. He was 45 years old, but in fact he looked younger, as if he was in his thirties. Such a beautiful and youthful appearance was not helped by the childish trick that King Joseph of Gaul was playing.

He balanced himself on the ledge and looked at the woman. Then with a loud roar and a grin, he waved towards her with delight.

"My dear Madame Molliere! Are those stuffy prayers over and we can get back to feasting?"

While he had used the word "Madame," Molliere was in fact Joseph's mistress. Born to a wealthy family, she was a pious woman. Normally, she would have reproached Joseph for skipping out on the prayers, but now she was far too concerned for his safety. She waved her hands frenetically.

"Yes, yes, Your Majesty, it's over. Now please, leave the balcony at once! That's dangerous!"

Joseph gave a casual shrug at her quavering voice.

"Oh, I'll be fine. Besides, what does it matter if I do fall? It would be an interesting change."

"That again, Joseph? It seems that in at least half of your conversations with me you joke about yourself dying. It's really quite morbid, and I think you should stop it."

"I don't think so", the King of Gallia responded. "If I get to see you squirm, I don't intend to stop doing it."

Molliere blushed slightly at those words, and then Joseph laughed heartily again.

"I am joking, my dear madam, only joking. Now, I'll get down from this ledge and we can enjoy this fine – WHOA!"

Joseph slightly slipped on the ledge and began to rock his body back and forth as he sought to keep his balance. Molliere shrieked again in panic.

"Oh, no no no no!"

She ran up to the balcony ledge to try and rescue him. However, at the last minute, Joseph jumped off the ledge and onto solid ground. Before she could react, he wrapped his arms around her.

"Frightened, dear?"

He gave a ferocious grin, and Molliere's face again blazed a bright red. Then, as tears filled her eyes, she struck her King's chest as she cried out.

"Y-you brute! Don't frighten a lady like that!"

"I told you, Molliere. I like watching you squirm."

He gave her a kiss on the forehead, and watched her delighted yet embarassed. Then Joseph spun her around, keeping her hand in his own the whole time.

"Now, dear, why don't we go and have a wonderful dinner? We must do our best to worship Brimir."

Molliere giggled in delight and the two walked hand in hand towards the dining hall. But then a messenger burst forth through the doors.

"Sir, you have a message from Albion. It is top secret, for your eyes only."

Joseph gave off an exaggerated sigh. He turned towards Molliere.

"My dear, will you please return to the dining hall. I am dreadfully sorry. Do tell the rest of the nobles they can begin their meal, I'll arrive shortly."

Molliere gave a small sniff of discontent, but bowed in acceptance. Joseph watched her leave as he took the envelope, and then with a single gesture he indicated that the messenger should also leave. Afterwards, he opened the letter and began to read, his brow furrowing as his eyes moved downward. As he finished the letter, he looked up at the sky and then muttered something to himself.

"I see. That was not as planned."

He read it over several times. Then he ripped the letter up and tossed the remains over the balcony before heading to his study. On the thirteenth night of the Pentecostal, King Joseph never appeared to feast with the Gallian nobility.

…

Boots trampled over shattered glass and Albion soldiers gingerly picked their way over rubble. Just last night, they would have softly treaded through the greatest church in Saxe-Gotha. Now the wonderful building was rubble. Two of the walls remained the standing, but the rest was broken stone and ruin.

It was not just the church. Much of the entire city of Saxe-Gotha had been ruined in the fighting last night. What the Tristain soldiers had lacked in organization from the evils of that magic which controlled their friends, they had made up for in ferocity and the courage of despair. They had fought throughout the night, and apparently a large amount of the soldiers had organized themselves and evacuated even in the face of the enemy attack.

However, as Oliver Cromwell walked through the ruins of the church, none of that mattered to him. He giggled like a little child as he skipped through the ruined church. A small piece of rock brushed past his foot, and he kicked it, laughing a little harder as the rock zoomed and crashed through a window. Sheffield followed behind him, her expression dignified and calm.

The pulpit for the head of the church had been left undamaged, and Cromwell made his way behind it. Assuming the role of the preacher that he was so used to, he lifted his hands to the sky. Sheffield stood to his right, and a small group of soldiers that had accompanied him as a bodyguard stood in front of him.

"Soldiers of Albion! The war is over! We have secured a great victory!"

His voice boomed like a thunderstorm. It was just like the old days, Cromwell thought, when he ran that dingy old church in the backwater mountains of Albion. Now he was the ruler of a kingdom, and had come within a razor's edge of losing his throne. But he had won. He just wanted to laugh without restraint in front of his men, but he had to remain dignified like a proper priest or ruler as he continued his speech.

"The foreign invaders came onto our soil. They took our cities and our lives! But we fought back! And with the power of the Void which Brimir has granted to me, we have saved our country, our glorious Republic! Look at this sign of victory!"

He gestured to his left, and the soldiers cheered as they glanced in that direction. There lay Princess Henrietta in all of her beautiful dignity. However, the pure white dress she wore was stained with blood from the multitude of wounds she had received, and her head was not actually attached to the rest of the body. But rather than mourn and think of their own mortality, the Albion soldiers cheered as they saw her corpse draped on the floor of this holy building.

"The whore of Tristain, who fought not for her country, but out of selfish desire and a lust for power, is dead! Now we shall never be threatened by Tristain again.

And what of the Tristanian puppet, the man who fled his country rather than fight? Bring him forward!"

The men gave out yells of approval, and in the back, one could see pushing and shoving. After some time, the Prince of Wales was brought forward, his hands tied. He was alive, but his face was heavily bruised from his treatment at the hands of the Albion army. Still, he ignored Cromwell and looked at the body of his beloved for a moment first.

"You will pay for this, Cromwell." He snarled. "Brimir will strike you down, you fake priest."

With an easy grin on his face, Cromwell slapped him across the face. The Prince fell down on his side, as Cromwell looked out towards his soldiers.

"The prince says that Brimir will stop us. I will show him mercy as befits a leader. I will not execute him until Tristan is defeated, until he realizes that his cowardly actions will not stop our glorious Republic!

For who will stop us now, soldiers? There is a small army of Albion soldiers to our south who escaped. But they are outnumbered and all of their leaders are dead. They will have no chance, no hope of victory. All they will do is die like leaderless rats."

He reached in his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief and waved it aloft.

"I promise to you soldiers. Go forth and do your duty. Crush the foreign invaders! The amount of blood we will lose in this upcoming battle would not soak even this handkerchief! Furthermore, I, Oliver Cromwell, your leader, will lead you personally to secure our final victory over these vicious invaders!"

The men cheered again, both at the proud boasts their leader made and in admiration of his decision to fight with them. Cromwell continued his speech, with constant applause from his men. As he did so, Sheffield waited to his right. She did not say a word, but simply moved her eyes back forth between the leader and his men, and continued to watch them carefully.


	29. The Emperor: Chapter 2

"_You might as well appeal against the thunder-storm as against these terrible hardships of war_**."**

William T. Sherman

…

…

The Emperor Napoleon sat inside a sparse tent. He was wearing the same uniform that he had worn on since the night of De Poitier's death. His legs were folded, and someone who would have merely glanced at him would have assumed he was meditating. That is, until one would have noticed that both hands were holding his head.

It had gotten worse in the last few days, he observed. From the very beginning, he had noticed that when he had completed his contract with Louise, there was a part of his mind which began to act peculiar. It nagged at him with a strength which was somewhere between a feeling and a whim. As far as Napoleon could tell, his mind didn't belong to him completely any more. Instead, that small part would always proclaim that the protection of Louise was his highest priority, and that he should do everything he could to protect her as opposed to seeking his own wishes.

Resisting it had been easy initially, and Napoleon had gotten used to it over the couple of months he had been in Helgekinia. But ever since he had tricked Louise into leaving Albion, that part of his mind had grown stronger. It wasn't that Louise was in actual danger. The contract meant that he could sense her to a degree, and while he couldn't tell much, he could tell she was safe and alive. Even so, the prodding and the idea that he should prioritize above Louise continued to harass him and say that he should drop everything and go to her side. While he had continued to resist it, it was harder and the effort had currently given him a mild headache. It was annoying, and given the odds he was playing with, he needed every bit of his genius that he could get.

The tent opened and Napoleon looked up. It was Owen Foucard. The soldier of the Imperial Guard had been appointed to serve as Napoleon's personal bodyguard. He saluted at the presence of his captain.

"The others are waiting for you, sir."

Napoleon nodded and stood up. He grasped the scabbard of his saber and lifted himself up, but then he stumbled a bit.

"Sir, are you all right?"

While Foucard was clearly surprised, he did not move from the entrance. Napoleon wouldn't have accepted his help anyways.

"I'm fine, Foucard. What is our status?"

Foucard glanced at him with a quizzical expression, but then suppressed it. The two left the tent and started to walk as Foucard spoke to Napoleon.

"We're at a village which the peasants call New Cromwell. It's about twenty five miles south of Saxe Gotha and is about fifteen miles north of Rosais. It's where we were told to march out by General De Poitiers and Princess Henrietta. In addition to those, we have about four thousand of our men who were attacked at Saxe Gotha whom we were also able to evacuate. The rest were either killed or fell under that foul spell of theirs."

Well, thought Napoleon, technically he had given them the order to march out. Not that Foucard ever needed to know that piece of information.

"Did you get the people I asked for?"

Foucard nodded.

"Martin and I talked to them. They all accepted. But sir, what of Henrietta and the generals? What should we do about them?"

"We focus on saving ourselves first, Foucard. If we are dead, then there's no one left to save Henrietta. We still don't know her status, so we'll have to move quickly."

Foucard opened his mouth, but the two approached a building. It was a small dingy one-floored farmhouse, and a cow idly browsed outside of it for grass. A sentry stood at attention, and saluted the pair as they arrived.

"The other men are ready and waiting, sir."

Napoleon briskly returned it.

"Good job, Williams. You can return to the camp."

The sentry stiffened up a bit.

"You know my name, sir?"

"Of course I do. Robert Williams, is it not?"

The soldier's eyes widened a bit, but Napoleon clapped him on the shoulder before he could say anything.

"Go. Get some rest. Foucard, take over."

Both of the soldiers simply glanced at each other. Then Williams walked off. With a brisk salute, Foucard assumed position outside the house while Napoleon walked inside.

The main room was dingy and musty, but it had still become the temporary headquarters of the Tristanian Army. Four men sat on chairs, but there was not a table. Instead, papers and maps were scattered across the wooden floor. All of them stood up upon seeing Napoleon walk in, and the Emperor couldn't help but smile at the gesture. He had taken plenty of time to know the invading army that he was currently in command of even before he had betrayed Henrietta. As the chain of command had been in disarray, he had launched the opportunity to pick men from the army who would be useful, men whom he had charmed and from whom he could generally ensure loyalty from for the course of this campaign. They were a mix of nobles and commoners alike.

"Gentlemen. Please sit down. There's no need to be so formal given the crisis we are currently in."

They sat down. Napoleon took a chair as well. He placed his elbows on the arm rests and crossed his fingers before his face. After a further moment where he adjusted his position, Napoleon began to speak on the situation.

"Gentlemen, you know that the situation is dire. We don't know where Henrietta is. Or any of the generals are. We don't know if they're alive or dead.

But saving them, if they're alive, is our highest priority. That means that we cannot evacuate or retreat. We will have to defeat the Albion army with our forces that we possess right here.

Now, Marquis of Touraine. There is something I want to ask you about."

The man to the immediate left of Napoleon looked up. He was a man about as old as Napoleon, though his clear face looked significantly more fatigued and exhausted. His gray hair was magnificently curled, and his splendid blue uniform far outshone that of everyone else in the room. The Marquis was a highly prestigious nobleman. He could legitimately trace his family's descent from noble blood for at least 500 years and possibly longer if he desired. Given such a long heritage of nobility, he easily possessed the right to overrule Napoleon and assume command of the remaining Tristanian forces for himself.

But that was not in his nature. The Marquis was a mediocre fighter and planner, but he possessed sufficient intelligence to know his limitations. As a result, he had been content to sit around and watch others work. He had been one of the easiest men to accept Napoleon's command, as despite or perhaps because of his titles, he had little interest in commanding and less ambition. If it wasn't for the massive dishonor which would have resulted, he likely would have stayed home and not fought in Albion at all. But even with those traits, there was one thing which he was skilled at which Napoleon knew he would need.

"You are a square-class Water mage. And last night, you told me that this spell which turned much of our army into mindless slaves of Albion was a water type. What do you know about it?"

The Marquis yawned at first at the question, and tapped one finger on the armrest.

"Bonaparte, if you want to know how to end that spell's grip on our own men or prevent it from affecting what men we do have in the future, I honestly don't know. But I do suspect that it's a spell which they won't use again."

"Your reasoning is?"

"I have two. The first is that they didn't use it until we were right at their gates."

The other generals nodded, as did Napoleon. He had suspected that much. If Albion could have used that spell repeatedly, the smartest course of action would have to use it the minute war broke out.

"The second is that this spell is simply far beyond the means of any mage I know. Magic that can control the minds and bodies of thousands upon thousands of humans? I would guess that it should run out eventually, perhaps in one to two weeks, but that's something I'll admit I don't know. Even for me, this spell is massively beyond my comprehension. But the fact that it's that powerful means that I doubt it can be used repeatedly easily."

With his observations done, the Marquis sat back in the chair and closed his eyes. In seconds, Napoleon could hear the sound of deep breathing from him.

"Very well," Napoleon said. "I believed that magic spell was our biggest problem. If Albion cannot use it again, then it is time to destroy their armies."

"Respectfully, Sir Bonaparte, I disagree."

As Napoleon heard the voice of another of his subordinates, he couldn't help it as a shadow crossed his face.

"And what is your objection, Julio Chesare?"

The young priest swung his whitish-blonde hair back and casually smiled. He ignored the irritation laced in Napoleon's voice.

"I believe that the Tristanian army faces terrible odds. Consequently, it should retreat, leave Albion, and seek peace. War is a terrible thing. My master, the Pope of Romalia, would be more than willing to begin peace mediations between the two sides."

"Are you insane?"

Another one of the men stood up in anger at those words. His blond hair draped across his head as he glared at Julio.

"Her Majesty is captured! How are we to negotiate without our sovereign? Albion will just leach us dry!"

Julio shrugged in response.

"Well, that is why I suggested my master as a mediator. Besides, I'm sure that discussing the safety of Princess Henrietta would be something which would be part of the negotiations."

"Why you-"

"Robert de Gramont!"

The eldest Gramont brother had pulled out his wand. But he stopped where he was upon hearing Napoleon's shout.

"Please. Sit down. As for you, Julio, no, we will not surrender. I intend to fight around here and win."

"And how will you do that?" Julio scoffed. You have less than 20,000 men. Albion bolstered by that spell of theirs will have more than 25,000. Those are fearful odds."

"That is our job," Napoleon observed. "It will be easier since we will be on the defensive. But that is not to say that I do not have a plan. Jacques Edouard Bernard Stewart, I'd like to confirm the geography."

He glanced at another one of the generals, the scruffiest and nastiest looking of the lot. The clothing of the other men was spotless, but this man's clothes were spattered with mud and grime. When one combined it with the fact that he had a massive shaggy black beard, the initial impression was that of a tramp. But his eyes were bright and beady, full of vigor and life, exactly the traits which a commoner commander needed. Drawing a sword by his side, he pointed it at the maps on the floor.

"About five miles south of New Cromwell, there are a series of hills, with a prominent one located where our center would likely be if we deploy there. There is also a lake directly east of those hills and some woods south of the lake. I would say that the roads there are also good. It's a strong defensive position.

If you like, sir, I could take some of the cavalry and launch a quick raid against the Albion lines of communications. It would be bad for their morale if we struck so soon after their victory at Saxe-Gotha."

"Why not use the dragons for such a strike?" Julio inquired. "Dragons are stronger than horses and can go much faster."

"They're much more visible." Stewart responded. "A raid needs discretion above all else, which is something dragons cannot do."

Napoleon listened to both of them, and then gave his decision.

"Use the horses to conduct a reconnaissance. Be discreet. I want you back as soon as possible, Stewart. Don't conduct any grandiose raids"

The newly-promoted general nodded in gratitude, but Napoleon continued to glare at the maps for a long time. The silence which was created in the meantime was stifling, and three of the men also followed Napoleon's example and looked over what information they had. Julio in the meantime sat back and watched. But after a few minutes of silence, they finally heard two words.

"No way."

Napoleon abruptly moved off his chair and grabbed a map. He turned it around once, twice, three times.

"It really is destiny…" he muttered to himself. "A replica? An exact replica? This is too good to be true."

He continued to talk to himself for a bit longer, but then finally put down the map. The other men noticed that he looked completely relaxed.

"This will be easy. Now, listen up, here is the plan."

…

Louise's eyes snapped open. She gradually stirred a bit, and then rubbed her head and looked around.

She was in a carriage and could see the landscape moving outside. Nothing was out of the ordinary. But it had happened again.

She didn't understand why. The dream of her watching the ship explode, of being enveloped by her light, her spell, had now become a regular occurrence. The nightmare these days hindered her sleep. Louise rummaged through a small pack that she carried inside the carriage and pulled out a mirror. As she looked into it, she could see that her eyes were red from exhaustion and that her overall appearance was pretty bad. If she had chosen to head to the Valliere estate, Cattleya likely would have tried to feed her to death.

But when Louise thought about it, it wasn't just that dream. She had begun to dream of the battlefield at La Rochelle, of the death and the slaughter that had occurred there. She had been kept in the back, far away from the fighting for most of the battle. But that changed barely anything. Instead of seeing the death and destruction from the battlefield, she heard the screams of men dying and the sound of gunfire. And that sound, without any images to accompany it, was just as terrifying as any sight.

Still, she shook it off and put away the mirror. She had told herself the first day she had had the falling dream that to tell anyone else about it wouldn't help herself at all. She still believed it. So in an attempt to distract herself, she began to figure out what she needed to do when she reached her destination.

About an hour later, the carriage finally stopped. Without even waiting for the coachman, Louise opened the door and stepped out onto the grass. With a content smile on her face, she looked up and saw stone towers and walls around her. She had finally returned to the Tristain Academy of Magic, the place which at times she felt was the closest to home.

No one else was in the courtyard, and Louise observed that she couldn't hear any sounds from inside the Academy itself. She realized that the Academy was likely nearly completely empty due to the war, but the lack of hustle and bustle disheartened her. However, she did not come back here to think about the old days. Louise had business to do. With a last look at the stone towers, she quickly made her way to the main tower. Her destination was Osmond's office. She had questions which she wanted to ask him as well as Professor Colbert.

After she made her way up the stairs and stood in front of the imposing wooden door, Louise took a deep breath. Then she knocked.

"Come in."

It was Colbert's voice. What was he doing in the office as opposed to the Headmaster? Despite her confusion, she pushed the door open.

The Professor was alone as he stood next to the desk of the headmaster. He held a vial of liquid in his right hand. Even though he had invited Louise in, he continued to stare at the vial and ignored Louise's presence. After waiting a few seconds more, she gave a small cough, which caused him to look up.

"Oh, well this is a surprise. How wonderful to see you, Louise! Just give me a second and-"

BOOM

Colbert set the vial down. But the minute it touched the wooden desk, it exploded in the Professor's hand. Louise instinctively closed her eyes and jumped back in reaction, and she felt a fragment of glass whizz past her cheek. As the sound faded away, she gradually opened one eye, only to arch an eyebrow in surprise. She saw glass scattered around the office and especially around the desk, but Colbert was unhurt. He looked only somewhat surprised, but with a small grumble he looked at Louise.

"So, how are you doing? You have been gone a while, Louise. Would you care for something to drink?"

The Valliere girl shook her head and pointed at the glass fragments.

"What were you doing there, Professor?"

"I was trying out a new experiment. Discovered a new liquid just yesterday, but well, it has a habit of doing that. That was the third time today. I'm glad I decided to protect myself this time.

But enough about myself. I'm surprised to see you, Louise. I had heard that you were fighting in Albion alongside Her Majesty."

Louise shrugged at the inquiry.

"Things happened. But where is Headmaster Osmond?"

"Ah."

Colbert's expression became gloomy upon hearing those words. He settled down in the Headmaster's chair and fidgeted with his fingers before he responded.

"Old Osmond has resigned."

"What?"

As Louise gasped, Colbert continued.

"A lot of the noble families were still angry with him after the Fouquet disaster. He resigned, and left me to run this academy. He's gone back to his estate for now."

"But it wasn't his fault! I heard what happened! He had to give up the Staff of Destruction in order to save the students! He should be rewarded for that, not removed from his position."

Colbert shook his head at those words.

"I know, Louise. I know. But a lot of the nobles don't care about that. They know that their children were put in danger. Some were harmed. The de Grandple family was the one that fought the hardest for his resignation because of what happened to their son Malicorne. Since their children were harmed, they had to blame someone. And we still don't know where Longueville – excuse me, Fouquet – is right now, so someone else had to take their wrath."

Louise still couldn't believe it. Old Osmond was gone? He had been a part of this academy for years upon years, she heard. How could he be forced to resign because of such an unpreventable disaster?

"But I'll ask, Louise. Why are you here?"

Her train of thought about Osmond was broken by those words. Louise reminded herself about why she had come to the Academy. It wasn't because she wanted to know about its current state. She had something far more important to do, as depressing as Osmond's departure was.

"Professor Colbert. I know you've researched on it. What do you know about Void magic?"

Colbert had also been thinking about his old friend the Headmaster. But upon hearing that question, he straightened up. He pulled up the chair and looked at Louise. He could see it from her expression. She was resolute, determined. The old Louise, the one who had nearly cried as her summoning had nearly failed, was gone. Colbert could see that there was something which she believed she needed to do or know. And so because of that, Colbert knew he couldn't refuse.

"Very well, Louse Francoise le Blanc de la Valliere. What is it you that you wish to know?"

…

_Tramp tramp tramp_

The sound of soldiers marching could be heard for miles upon miles as the Albion army marched south. Their heads were held high from the victory they had received. While most of them had yet to learn of Henrietta' death, they all knew that they had won a great victory when the enemy was at the gates of their capital.

Yet the mood was not entirely joyous. Throughout the long column, whispers and little pieces of conversations could be heard as they pointed to the head of the column. Cromwell himself proudly rode at the front on a brilliant white horse. But directly behind him were the soldiers who had defected from Tristanian oppression and had welcomed the cause of liberty. At least, that was what the soldiers had been told.

However, at the end of the column, a pair of soldiers couldn't help but wonder as they chatted to one another.

"Did you hear what happened when Jones tried to talk to those soldiers?"

"What do you mean?"

"They don't talk to anyone; they keep to themselves all the time."

"Hmmm… maybe they feel guilty about helping us? You can't trust a traitor, you know."

"It's not that. They don't talk. At all. Jones tried to offer them some beer, and they said nothing. And their eyes. He says they're really creepy."

"You don't say. It doesn't take a lot to freak him out."

"It's different, Smith! It's weird. I've seen them myself, though I've never talked to them. And when you look at them, there's something weird about them, something I don't like. It's like looking at a corpse. Have you ever seen those new soldiers?"

"Nope. Besides-"

"So what are you talking about, you louts?"

The pair of soldiers abruptly looked to their right as another voice broke in. A well-built muscular man now marched alongside the soldiers, though he notably stayed out of the column. As opposed to a proper military uniform, he wore a travelling cloak, but his face couldn't help but draw the soldiers' attention. His hair was white, but the left side of his face was covered with burn scars. Even so, he gave off a leering grin as he stared at the unfortunate pair. Even with no rank or insignia on his chest, they could tell that they were talking to a superior.

"S-sorry, sir! We won't be doing it again!"

The column continued marching, but the men behind and in front of the pair couldn't help but glance. Meanwhile, the man who now marched alongside the soldiers continued to grin next to them.

"You're sorry, you say? But how do I know it's sincere? You could start to talk about something bad the moment I leave, am I wrong?"

There was no response. These men were new recruits, pressed into service in the aftermath of the Battle of La Rochelle. And now they were confronted by this strange man who was their superior, who strode alongside them casually. A man who they somehow knew could kill them instantly.

"Oh, what's wrong? Did I burn off your tongue? Oh, no I didn't, not yet that is."

The strange man used his left hand to lift his cloak, while his right hand pulled out a metal rod. He started to wave it around.

"Ah, I should burn you. I want to smell that wonderful scent, the clash of wills and lives and-"

"Menvil!"

The white-haired man stopped and turned around. As he did so, the column continued its march, and Menvil whipped his head back and snarled at the escaping soldiers. But as he heard the flapping of wings, he looked up, though his expression did not hide his irritation as Wardes's griffin landed besides him.

The traitorous wind mage was also covered with a travelling cloak, which managed to conceal his missing right arm. His left hand gripped the reins. Even with his ruined face, he stared with contempt at the mage in front of him.

"So, what did you think you were doing by harassing the column and those men?"

Menvil gave no indication that he had heard Wardes's question. Instead, he stowed the staff under his cloak, and then sarcastically bowed.

"A pleasant day to you, Wardes. Water magic really is impressive these days, isn't it?"

Wardes instinctively removed his single hand from the reigns and flexed the fingers a few times at those words.

"You didn't answer my question, Menvil."

"Oh, I was just going around chatting with the men and ensuring that discipline was in the ranks. There's nothing wrong with that, is there?"

"The problem is that by 'discipline' you actually mean 'an excuse to start burning people'. You're just a mercenary, Menvil. Go back to your small squad and stay out of the way of the proper soldiers."

Menvil stared at Wardes for a moment. Then he suddenly pulled the metal rod out of his cloak and pointed it at the Knight Captain.

"What the!"

Wardes's left hand moved to his belt where his wand was, but he was too slow. He had still not gotten used to riding and casting with only one arm. By the time he grabbed his hand, Melvin chanted one word.

"_Fotia."_

A jet of flame shot out of the rod. It shot past Wardes, but he could still feel the intense heat on his face. However, while his left hand gripped the hand, he did not bother to withdraw it. He could tell that at the close distance they were at, Menvil had intentionally missed, though it did not stop him from shouting.

"What in Brimir's name do you think you're doing, you flame maniac?"

Menvil put away the wand, and then pointed to his right. Throughout the entire conversation, the column had been marching past them, south to the confrontation with the remaining Tristanian forces. But as the soldiers marched past the pair of mages, Wardes noticed that almost all of them broke discipline when Menvil unleashed his spell. Some looked behind them, at a large tree which had been hit by the fire spell. Others whispered and talked to each other about what they had seen. They continued to move, but the strict rows of disciplined men were slowly but visibly breaking apart.

"Those are your proper soldiers, Wardes. They are ordinary people, whom are amazed and frightened by that small spell. Half of them don't want to be here as it is right now even after that victory. What do you think they'll do when they get to the battlefield? The only ones who will obey completely are Cromwell's pet zombies."

He hoisted the cloak over himself and then turned around with the column.

"I couldn't care less what you think about me, Wardes. Same for Cromwell, or Sheffield, or those pathetic useless men over there. But you ought to remember. Its men like us, and you, who will decide victory. Not a useless mob."

Without saying anything more, Menvil marched off at a pace which would put any of the regular soldiers to shame. Wardes watched the mercenary's back for a moment and then gave a sigh of disgust. Gripping the reins once again, his griffin took to the skies.

…

Crows cawed in the sky as the sun began to set. The soldiers of the Tristanian Army flitted back and forth, securing firewood and other supplies to get through the night. Food these days was not a significant problem. The superiority of the Tristanian Air Force meant that the supply lines were completely guarded, and thus wagons of food and other equipment steadily marched north from the port in Rosais.

Meanwhile, Napoleon rested in the headquarters. Behind the farmhouse was a small pond. No one had tended it because of the war and so the water was dank and murky. Nevertheless, the bank remained a nice place to sit. Foucard was inside the farmhouse, as Napoleon had requested to be alone. He wanted to rest outside.

But even so, he continued to think. Time was of the essence. He had secured command of the army, but that wasn't permanent. He didn't know what the status of Henrietta or the rest of the generals was yet. But if she was dead, then it wouldn't be too long until the news got out to Tristain, which would certainly result in political chaos. He wanted to strike before that happened.

Fortunately, he knew from his scouts that the Albion army was marching south, with Cromwell himself at the head. He was glad to know that Albion sought battle as well. His men would begin marching to those hills which Stewart had mentioned tomorrow, and then he would activate the next operation. Hopefully it would go as well as it did last time.

Feeling a little better, Napoleon picked himself up and decided to enter the farmhouse. But then he heard a rustle. There was a series of bushes on the other side of the small pond. And now that Napoleon looked closer, he saw that one of them was shaking. He slowly moved his left hand towards the sword at his side, preparing to activate the Gandalfr runes just in case.

"Kya!"

A figure fell out of the bushes and tumbled into the pond. There was a great splash, and then a moment of silence. The seconds passed, but no one came up to break the water's surface.

Napoleon moved instinctively. Despite everything he had done since he had entered this world, he wasn't the type of person who would let someone die for no good reason. Disrobing himself, he jumped into the water. He slightly grumbled about how filthy the water was, but fortunately the level was only a little deeper than his own height. With a combination of wading and highly ineffectual swimming, he made his way over. Dragging him – no, he realized as he got closer, it was a female – he lifted her light body up to the surface. She did cough up water when she reached it, but gave no further reaction.

"Hang on there!"

Napoleon shouted those words of encouragement and then made his way to the bank. Fortunately, it appeared that Foucard had heard the noise of him entering the water, and now he stood at the bank waiting for his captain. As Napoleon got close, he waded in and dragged both of them ashore.

"Sir, you could have gotten me to rescue her! You shouldn't have done that yourself!"

Napoleon shrugged his shoulders, water dripping off of him as he dropped her on the bank.

"It wasn't difficult. Fortunately, it looks like she's alright."

He had wondered what kind of person it had been who would try to sneak towards the Tristanian headquarters, though as he looked at her, the answer to that question became pretty obvious. She had blonde hair, a… very nice chest, and it appeared that she wasn't wearing much clothing to begin with. There was really only one conclusion.

"She's pretty bold for a prostitute, trying to head directly to the headquarters. Foucard, check her pulse."

The large man bent down, though he couldn't help it as he "accidentally" grabbed her chest for a moment. Still, he brushed her hair aside, and felt her neck as he looked at the girl's face. Suddenly, Foucard leapt up as if he had been shocked, and his face had turned pale.

"Sir, get inside! Get inside!"

Foucard all but tackled Napoleon and dragged him in the house. The Emperor choked out a few words in surprise.

"What in damnation are you doing?"

"What are you talking about, sir? It's an elf. By Brimir's name, it's an elf! We have to get you out of here for your own safety, NOW!"

Ignoring any complaints Napoleon had, Foucard threw him inside the farmhouse and leapt after him. He then slammed the door behind him, leaving the girl by the pond bank. But her pointy ears moved a little bit in reaction to the loud noise.


	30. The Emperor: Chapter 3

"_To the last I grapple with thee; from hell's heart I stab at thee; for hate's sake I spit my last breath at thee."_

_Moby Dick_.

…

…

"Um… please, thank you."

The elven girl clapped her hands together and bowed slightly as a servant ladled out a bowl of soup. But instead of gratitude for her thanks, he jumped back in terror even as he continued to hold a full pot, and then scurried out of the room. With her sad smile on her face in the aftermath of that gesture, she picked up a nearby wooden spoon and dipped it in, before she stopped and then looked in front of her.

"Do you want some?"

"No."

She blinked once or twice, and then began to eat. Meanwhile, Napoleon watched her from the other end of the table. A fireplace burned cheerfully next to them.

It had been quite a battle, he thought. Foucard had truly gone nuts upon seeing this girl, and Napoleon had actually been forced to activate his Gandalfr runes and wrestle him to the ground to shut him up. But even then, he continued to rant about the elf girl outside and how they were all going to die. From Napoleon's perspective, to watch a member of what was to become his future Imperial Guard panic and gibber like a shrieking infant was quite depressing.

It's not like he didn't know about elves. He had read about the creatures when he was still back in the Tristain Academy's library. They were a people who lived far away from other humans, in some distant holy land, and the main physical difference between them and humans were the long pointy ears that they possessed. But aside from that, this elf looked like a normal human, with a thin, delicate body, a woven green tonic, and an aura of kindness exuding from her. Well, thought Napoleon, he would have probably to make an exception for that chest. He had thought his second wife, the stupid girl he had married to keep the Emperor of Austria happy and to get a son, had a decent sized bosom, but that was nothing compared to this girl. It was ridiculous and…

Napoleon snapped himself out of his reverie. He didn't know whether their females were all so blessed, but that wasn't the important thing. Elves were dangerous. Because they possessed that holy land in the south, humans and elves generally disliked one another. However, elves possessed a far superior lifespan and magic which far outclassed the capabilities of humans. The books had told him that meeting a single elf was a cause for an entire human army to retreat, and the reaction of his soldiers to this girl had made it apparent that they believed it.

He glanced behind him as he grumbled slightly. He had hoped to meet with this elven girl alone, but Foucard would have none of it. The bodyguard stood behind Napoleon, but he had been joined by Martin and Napoleon's four subordinates. Stewart's back leaned a little too casually by the wall while his hand dangled a mere centimeter away from his sword, ready to draw it at the first sign of provocation, while Napoleon noticed that Robert de Gramont watched the girl without hiding an expression of disgust and hatred. If that wasn't enough, Napoleon had also relented and had summoned the other members of his guard. Fifty soldiers currently stood at attention outside his headquarters, and Napoleon had reluctantly given out orders. If they observed anything going wrong inside the headquarters from the outside, they were to charge in with their bayonets. The degree of awe and fear that this little elf girl who hungrily spooned soup into her mouth struck into the hearts of his allies couldn't help but fascinate him.

"So, you said that your name was Tiffania?"

The elf girl was clearly famished, as she had stopped spooning the soup into her mouth and had just lifted the bowl to drink directly from it. But upon hearing Napoleon's inquiry, she set it down.

"Yes. My name is Tiffania Westwood."

"'Westwood?'" commented Martin. "That's an odd last name for an elf."

The elf nervously pushed her index fingers at that observation.

"Well…that is… I'm only half elf. My father was a human."

"What was his name?" asked Martin.

Martin seemed to remain much calmer in Tiffania's presence, and his voice didn't betray any fear. But it didn't seem to help, as Tiffania once again pushed her fingers together and glanced wildly about, like a trapped animal. That was not a good starting avenue for an interrogation, and Napoleon turned and signaled Martin to stand back before he looked back at Tiffania.

"So, Tiffania. What reason does a half-elf have to come to my headquarters?"

The elf girl blinked at Napoleon for a moment, her expression confused and frightened.

"A-are you willing to help me? A mixed elf?"

"If you didn't think I would help, why did you come here?"

"Well, I didn't have anywhere else to turn to. There's a nearby village, but I don't think they can help me. B-but…"

She hesitated again. Someone sighed in irritation behind Napoleon, but he ignored it.

"Please, Tiffania. There's no reason for you to worry. What is your problem?"

The girl once again pushed her index fingers together out of nervousness before she finally responded with a plaintive voice. Having seen it a third time, Napoleon committed the tic to his memory as she continued.

"I own an orphanage which houses about 25 or so children. But we can't get food these days because of the war. I can tell that you aren't Albion, but aside from that, I don't know who you are. But, please…"

"That's a lie."

One voice spoke up behind Napoleon, and then the sounds of footsteps could be heard approaching the table where Napoleon and Tiffania sat at. Robert de Gramont slammed his right hand on the table as he glared at Tiffania with unhidden hostility.

"There's no reason to trust you. You are an elf. A monster that can destroy us all. Your orphanage is likely a trap meant to lure and kill our soldiers."

"W-what? I…"

As Tiffania instinctively shuddered out of confusion, Napoleon closed his eyes. Meanwhile, Robert continued.

"So answer me, elf. What are you doing with an orphanage? Why do the villagers trust you to care for human children? No commoner could be that stupid, to trust children to a creature which uses human blood for your dark rituals."

"W-what? But that's not true!"

"Don't lie to me!"

Robert's left hand now slammed down on the table. The rest of the group began to murmur amongst themselves.

"You don't think I don't know the stories, elf? I know the stories about your kind perfectly well. I've heard about how you will fatten up human children in the dungeons of your temples, slaughter them on your holy days, and then use their blood and entrails as sacrifices to their gods. How did you hide your temple by the village? You used magic, did you not?"

"B-but…I…"

"Some kind of elven magic to convince that you wouldn't kill their children? Mind control? Hypnotism? Perhaps everyone in that village is your thrall, and could give you food if you wanted to and you're just trying to-"

"Gramont!"

Robert at first looked at Napoleon, but the Emperor had said nothing. He had continued to sit with his hands folded over his face, staring intently at Tiffania throughout the interrogation. The girl had all but broken down to deep tears as she covered her face with her hands. Instead, Julio stepped forward.

"Elf or not, that girl is a guest of your superior. Surely not all Tristanians treat their guests in such a manner?"

Robert's face flushed white at the mockery laden in Julio's remark.

"Are you mocking me, Romalian priest? You, of all people, should know that the elves are more dangerous than anyone! They must be treated with suspicion at all times!"

"Perhaps. It's true that they don't believe in Brimir, and that really is a problem. But that does not necessarily call for violence. Or maybe you would enjoy that? You do seem to have a habit of enjoying battle, given by your discussion today and that little incident at Jor-"

"You dare!" Robert roared as his right hand swung down.

But then he stopped. Before he could reach his wand, Napoleon had grabbed his arm before it could make a move. The Emperor stared directly into Gramont's eyes as he did so for a few moments. Then Robert moved his face, and without saying anything else, he tramped over to the rest of the lieutenants and sat down on a wooden chair with a huff. In the meantime, Napoleon turned back to Tiffania.

"The sun is setting, Tiffania. You should find somewhere to sleep for tonight. I can give you a decision by tomorrow."

The elven girl now openly sobbed out of fear, though she lifted her heads up at Napoleon's words. However, she shook her head as tears dripped down her cheeks.

"I-I need to get back to the orphanage. P-please, you have to help me."

"There's nothing to worry about, but you'll have to wait until morning as it's too dangerous. Is that all right?"

Tiffania hesitated for a bit, but then she nodded. Napoleon then looked back towards the men and waved Martin over.

"Find her a place in this camp for her to sleep, and I mean a proper place for a lady. I will check on her in the morning to make sure she's fine."

The soldier saluted, and with another gesture by Napoleon, he kindly escorted Tiffania out of her seat. The two walked out of the room, though Tiffania took great care not to make eye contact with the lieutenants and soldiers watching her. As the two left and the door closed after them, Robert spoke up.

"What are you planning to do with her, Captain? You're going to help her, are you not?"

"Yes, I am."

There was a tone of finality in Napoleon's voice, and Robert thus said nothing more. Napoleon glanced over at Stewart, who had chosen to stand at attention after Tiffania had left.

"Yes, sir?"

"Do you have any objection to helping an elven girl?"

"Not particularly. Do you want me to go help her?"

Napoleon shook his head.

"Pick out one of your better lieutenants, as well as 40 men. Get three day's rations for them as well as enough food from the supply trains to feed another 25 – no, make that 26 – for three days. If the situation is dire enough, tell him to evacuate the orphanage and protect the children and the elf."

Stewart nodded in approval and saluted, which Napoleon returned.

"That is all, then. Everyone is dismissed."

Upon those words, everyone began to file out of the building. Foucard and Martin whispered among themselves, but Napoleon could tell that they weren't discontent whisperings. Most of the soldiers, while definitely paranoid of elves, seemed willing to help an orphanage out, or at minimum follow their leader's orders.

However, one person stayed behind. Robert de Gramont remained, his arms folded and his expression filled with frustration at Napoleon's command.

"I don't understand what you're doing, sir. She's an elf! You can't trust her! What if she really will kill those men, what will we do then?"

"Then we will lose 40 men and a good lieutenant."

"Exactly! That's too high of a risk! There's no way we can-"

"Too high of a risk?"

A slight edge lingered on Napoleon's voice.

"You're one of my direct subordinates, Gramont. Yet you're unwilling to sacrifice 40 men for an objective?"

"B-but there is no objective! We don't gain anything by helping this orphanage out!"

"I don't think she's lying, to begin with."

"What?"

Robert stopped at the aside, but Napoleon continued.

"If she was lying, she would have done more under your questioning than babble like a moron. I doubt that girl's capable of lying at all. But even if I couldn't tell, I would still send the men. After all, if she's lying? I lose 40 men. If she's not? Then I gain the gratitude of a creature worth an army by herself. I'd say that's a fair tradeoff, wouldn't you, Robert?"

Even with that analysis, Robert still looked displeased.

"Are you saying that you intend to use an elf? To fight alongside us?"

"Of course," Napoleon countered smoothly. "We are in rather desperate straits, Robert de Gramont. We can use all the help we can get before we clash with Cromwell's army. Now please, depart. I have things to do."

Robert's expression still held suspicion and discontent, but he obeyed. With a snap of his heels, he saluted Napoleon and then left the room. Napoleon couldn't help but chuckle after the last of his generals had left.

"He really is a true Tristanian. His devotion to the faith of Brimir means that he's completely suspicious of Tiffania, but his stance as a loyal soldier means that he never suspected his superior officer for a second.

Ah well, it's not that important anyways. He'll find out when the right time comes. I don't think he'll have a problem anyways."

…

It's a fact of war that it's always the little luxuries that you miss the most when you're on the battlefield.

Oliver Cromwell could attest to that. He just wanted socks. Nice, clean, fresh socks which didn't have holes and which he could actually change out of. But no, he had not brought any socks with him on the night which they had prepared for the attack on Saxe-Gotha, and now they were marching to finish off the remnants of the Tristanian Army without time to collect fresh socks. It was really quite a shame.

He also didn't like the fact that his men so enthusiastically waved at him now. Part of him was grateful at the acknowledgment, and he fulfilled the proper role of a ruler as he waved back at them. But he couldn't help but think back to their faces the day before the attack on Saxe-Gotha. The day before the battle, he had played the role as the commander of the Albion forces. He marched in front of them and exhorted the need to defend their land from invaders and how anyone who died for the Holy Albion Republic in this battle would be remembered for eternity as brave heroes.

They hadn't cheered him, which he had been prepared for given how poorly this war had gone from the very beginning. But what they had done was worse. He noticed their faces throughout the speech, sullen, indifferent, without a care about whether they won or not. And to be ignored, to have his words go through one ear and out the other? That was a fate far worse than being booed by his men.

Now, after the victory they had achieved at Saxe-Gotha, they cheered him. But he couldn't forget those faces which had greeted him and which had frightened him even more than any time that Sheffield had been cross with him. Now he knew that to be a king was truly a terrifying, joyless affair. How could he have ever joked about the idea of wanting to be one?

"Is everything alright, Cromwell?"

He jumped with a start, but then realized that his secretary Sheffield had ridden up to him while he had reminisced, a calm smile on her face. In return, Cromwell faked a smile and shook his head towards her.

"Everything is fine, Sheffield. I don't believe I've thanked you enough for what you've done for our people. Your spell with the Ring of Andvari may have singlehandedly saved our kingdom."

"It was no problem," She responded in a gracious voice. "You know that it is now my duty to serve Albion and you to my fullest capabilities."

"Is that so?"

The words slipped out of Cromwell's mouth before he could think, and he cursed himself for being incapable of shoving them back in. Sheffield's eyes moved, but he quickly attempted to cut her off before she could think about their meaning too soon.

"Anyway, that was quite the fantastic magic there, Sheffield. How were you capable of accomplishing such a feat?"

The smile completely vanished from Sheffield's face, and her eyes now noticeably narrowed.

"It is a magic I learned from Rub al Khali, my faraway home. I do not think you will ever be capable of learning that magic for yourself, if that is what you are asking."

Cromwell nervously laughed at the cold statement.

"Of course, of course! I never intended such a thing. It just made me curious, that's all. Rub al Khali must truly be an interesting country! I should like to visit it someday."

Sheffield shook her head.

"It was only through a quirk of fate that I was able to cross the great desert which separates Helgekinia from Rub al Khali, Cromwell. Besides, a ruler does not have time to do such things."

There was nothing more said between them for a minute or two. Cromwell fidgeted about on his horse, while Sheffield remained expressionless, though she snuck small glances at the Albion leader every now and then.

"Cro-"

"Ah! General Wentworth is up there! I must speak to him about the plans for the war!"

Cutting Sheffield off, Cromwell gave a small wave to Sheffield before he kicked his horse and rode on ahead. He glanced behind himself at his secretary, who gave a wave back.

Nevertheless, the gesture brought no joy to Cromwell's heart. That conversation had only cemented his suspicions. He knew that without Sheffield and what she did to the Ring of Andvari, he never could have defeated the Tristanian army, but the more he thought about it, the less and less he liked it. He really didn't know anything about her. She told him that she came from that faraway land of Rub Al Khali, but who knows whether anything she said was true, especially since she never bothered to describe what that exotic country was like no matter how much he needled?

Even if she was telling the truth about that, he didn't know anything else. He didn't know her past, what she fought for, or even the magic that she had used to turn the Tristanian soldiers against their lord, as she intentionally remained vague to such inquiries. After all, Cromwell thought, people don't just give away entire kingdoms unless they have a very good reason, and yet he had no idea what that reason really was for Sheffield. True, she had talked about it being a stepping-stone for a later incursion into the Holy Land, yet the more he thought about it, the more he realized what an unlikely ideal that was. Who knew whether she was really working for Cromwell, or someone else? He didn't know. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized that was bad.

As he rushed through his thoughts, Cromwell's horse finally caught up with Wentworth. He was a young dashing man, at least 30, who possessed a fine brown beard and enjoyed fancy uniforms. Ignoring the receiving salute, the ruler of Albion signaled the general to ride a little closer to him.

"What is it, your Excellency?"

Cromwell hesitated for a moment, and he threw one quick glance at Sheffield. As far as he could tell, she had continued to watch him intently while he had ridden ahead. That settled his decision. Nudging his horse, he moved even closer to his general and spoke to him in a voice just loud enough so that Wentworth could hear over the din of the marching army.

"I want you to take one of your spies and have him track Sheffield at all times. Tell him to report everything directly to me. Anything she does that's even remotely unusual, I want to know."

Wentworth blinked in confusion, and then turned and stared back at Sheffield for several long seconds. While Cromwell groaned in frustration at the suspicious movement, he resisted the urge to smack the head of the general, as that would have no doubt made things stranger and more suspicious for her. But at last, the general turned back towards Cromwell and nodded resolutely.

"Very well. It will be done by the end of the day."

Cromwell relaxed at those words, but then the general continued to talk.

"You also want to hear about the latest reports, do you not, Your Excellency?"

"Reports?" Cromwell paused on that word idly for a bit. "Oh, yes, the reports! About the war, of course. Against Tristain. That would be good to hear now."

The general decided to ignore Cromwell's confusion.

"We're currently about a day's march away from the village of New Cromwell. We believe that the enemy army is somewhere to the south of it, as there's a series of hills which can make for an excellent defensive position. Hopefully, the usage of our… new… soldiers can demoralize them."

The general lingered on that word with distaste. As useful as the spell was, Cromwell saw from his tone that Wentworth did not enjoy the magic which had turned the Tristanian soldiers against their comrades.

"What about Tristanian's fleet? What do we know about them?"

"As far as we know, they're resting at La Rochelle. They'll have to wait until their army arrived there to evacuate them given that they need to have a port to have them embark, and Tristania in general doesn't possess enough dragon knights to make a difference. Under the current circumstances, I don't believe that they'll play a factor in this next battle. It's just our army versus their army. No other reinforcements or anything like that."

Cromwell nodded in approval at those words.

"That's good. We'll end this war as needed. After that, we'll try to secure peace with Tristain."

"Are you sure about that course of action, sir? Tristanian will be in chaos once this army is destroyed and they learn of Henrietta's death, and Gallia will soon attack them as well. I do not believe we should seek a negotiated peace. Instead, we should attempt to re-invade Albion and liberate the country for the good of our Republic."

"We didn't declare war to conquer Tristain, general. We declared war because they wouldn't give up the Prince of Wales to our justice. We have captured him, and thus have fulfilled our objectives. If we attack in order to try to conquer all of Tristain, Germania won't idly sit by this time. Besides…"

Cromwell once again looked back on Sheffield for a moment before he turned back to the general.

"We have to make sure that the revolution at home first is truly secured from foreign enemies. That is my biggest responsibility as the protector of Albion."

…

Napoleon looked out at the setting sun, but he continued to grumble as he stood upon the top of one of the hills to the south of New Cromwell. There was so much to do, and so little time. It had been about a day and a half since he had discussed affairs with the elf, whom had recovered from Gramont's interrogation and her initial fears. Stewart had dispatched a small force with the elven girl to find her orphanage and secure the area, and while they ran the risk of running into the Albion army, the village and the orphanage were supposedly fairly isolated, making that unlikely.

But there were other problems. Destroying the entire general staff at Saxe-Gotha and replacing it with himself did pose severe military consequences. While he normally avoided a hierarchical, rigid system of command in favor of directing several independent armies, he didn't really have a choice here. He had recruited his men and lieutenants in an attempt to replicate the independent armies of his past, but there wasn't enough time before the battle. Even now, as he looked out of his telescope at the Albion army which now was only about 5 miles away from Tritstain's army, they had to figure out their own staff and loyalty and such matters. He would have to direct this personally to a larger degree than was normal for his commanding style.

A footstep tramped on the grass behind him, but instead of acknowledging the visitor, Napoleon only pulled out a map of the area and read over the terrain once again. It really was an exact replica of that battle so long ago, at the peak of his might, when he had battled a colossal Austrian and Russian force.

"What is it, Julio?"

The young Romalian priest bowed respectfully to Napoleon before taking a few steps forward.

"I'd like to reexamine our various roles in the battle one more time. Could you explain it to me again?"

Napoleon stared at Julio suspiciously for a bit. Then with a sigh, he knelt down on the hill and spread out the map. There were a series of drawings indicating the positions of the Tristanian and Albion forces.

"Stewart mentioned these hills which we're currently standing on, and advised us to form a defensive line around them, correct?"

Julio nodded in response.

"We will do no such thing. Tomorrow we will abandon these hills to the enemy."

Julio opened his mouth in confusion, but then shut it. That was interesting, Napoleon noted. He had met Julio during his examinations of the Tristanian while it had rested at Saxe-Gotha and instantly distrusted the boy. He was too smooth and too suave as his little jibes with Robert de Gramont proved, but the main problem Napoleon had was that Julio's loyalties didn't lie with Tristain or Albion. Instead, he worked as a priest under the Pope of Romalia, and had been apparently been dispatched by the Pope to minimize casualties. Still, he couldn't deny the boy's prodigious skill. The boy knew how to fight and map strategy, and also possessed considerable skill at riding dragons, something which Napoleon obviously possessed almost no knowledge about. And while the boy's initial loyalties had been a concerned, he had been shocked and horrified by the magic which Albion had been used as well as concerned about the fate of Princess Henrietta, and thus had committed himself temporarily to the service of Tristain.

"We will let the enemy have the hills, and will at the same time weaken our right flank who will hide behind a series of streams and river located behind the river. Cromwell is headstrong, and if Touraine is right, he will need to attack sooner rather than later anyways or risk the spell which controls our men collapsing. I will take advantage and invite an opening on our right flank."

"Then you intend to strike with your left flank as there won't be many Albion men left on the hill, correct?"

Napoleon looked up from the map as he noted Julio's observation.

"Not bad, Julio. That was a good strategic insight. Your master should feel proud."

Julio bowed at the compliments, but Napoleon chose to continue to speak.

"We'll retake the heights. That'll split the enemy in two between the group defending the heights and the group attacking our right flank. We'll demolish the enemy defending the heights. Then we will secure it and focus on destroying the last group with the bulk of our forces.

"I truly am impressed, Bonaparte. But how sure are you that it's going to work? It seems to be fairly complicated."

"It's not that difficult. In fact, it's one of my simpler plans, and more importantly, I've used it before, on a field called Austerlitz. But you said you wanted to know your role, right?"

Julio nodded in assent, but then he looked up from the map. Napoleon could hear the sound of approaching hoof beats, but he also heard a single person shouting along with the horse.

"Captain Bonaparte!"

It was Stewart. The subordinate galloped away on his horse and waved his hat with its feathery plume repeatedly as he attempted to attract his master's attention. Even from so far away, Napoleon could see the sweat beading down his neck.

"To the southwest! Look to the sky, the sky!"

Napoleon looked in that direction, and at first he could see nothing more than the clouds. But then he noticed some faint black specks coming from the setting sun. As Julio looked on in confusion, Napoleon opened his telescope and looked through it in that direction.

He could make them out be the flying ships which were so common to this land but which Napoleon still found to be so bizarre. But while Napoleon couldn't see any clear signs of a flag or insignia on the ships from this distance, it was strange.

"Stewart, our ships are docked in La Rochelle, which is to our southeast. And Albion doesn't have enough ships for us to worry about. So whose ships are coming from the southwest?"

"Gallia!"

Stewart finally managed to get his horse besides Napoleon and Julio, though he did not dismount.

"Those are Gallian ships!"

Napoleon continued to look in the telescope.

"Gallia. Stewart, do you know why they would be here?"

The new general shook his head.

"No, but it isn't good. Gallia's always been friendly to Albion, and they didn't condemn the Reconquista like all the other countries did. They could be fighting on the side of Albion! They could drive our fleet away, and then we would be trapped, or they could attack us here or-"

"Could."

"What?"

Napoleon's expression hadn't changed in the slightest from his news, which confused Stewart. This was a cause for panic. The Gallian ships were fully capable of destroying the Tristanian army. But his leader showed no more concern for this than if Stewart had ridden up to Napoleon telling him that one of his favorite pairs of boots went missing.

"They 'could' do that. Hold position. Do not attack the Gallian ships. I want to know what their intentions are first. Julio, return to your position and prepare for the retreat tomorrow."

Stewart gnashed his teeth together out of apprehension and worry, but both of Napoleon's lieutenants understood the importance of the chain of command. They saluted and left the scene, leaving Napoleon alone with his thoughts. It was only when Napoleon was sure that his subordinates could not see him that he stomped one foot on the ground.

…

"They came!"

Cromwell had been tired. Having arrived at the small village of New Cromwell, he had made himself comfortable in the Mayor's office and had finally procured some socks. But he had remained tired and exhausted this entire time, as he couldn't suppress the fear of the future battle. But with the latest news, he couldn't help but dance a little jig in delight. Gallia had come! He had sent the report of Henrietta's death directly to Joseph hoping that those news would finally persuade that lazy and flirtatious king to get out of his stupor and fight with his secret ally, and his plan had worked! A vast Gallian armada had shown up to help him defeat the remaining Tristanian forces! He had done something right, by himself, without any prodding or aid from Sheffield! At last, he showed his independence!

He wouldn't need Sheffield after they defeated the Tristanian forces, and he didn't trust her anyways. He'd have her executed. Yes, executed, not imprisoned. You couldn't trust a witch like her to remain in jail long anyways. And then he'd solidify his base of power, and make sure of the security of Albion, his country. Not Wales, not Sheffield, not anyone in the world! Albion belonged to him and him alone!

A messenger jumped into the room as Cromwell continued to dance.

"Your Excellency, His Majesty King Joseph of Gallia himself is here on those ships! He wishes to send you a message of greeting, and thus asks that you show your location."

The mayor of New Cromwell was a short fat corrupt little man, but Cromwell didn't mind as he had taken care to stock his office with fine liquors and wines which he now sampled. Tilting a bottle back into his mouth, he nodded to the messenger in an indication of approval for the request.

Even so, Cromwell's chest couldn't help but puff up with pride. Joseph had no doubt been difficult to work with, given his work ethic or rather lack thereof. But now on the battlefield, this king of possibly the mightiest nation in Helgekinia now acknowledged Cromwell as an equal. That truly was an indication of the success he had obtained as ruler of Albion.

He half danced, half lurched to the balcony of the Mayor's house and watched as the flag of the Holy Republic of Albion was raised in front. He couldn't help but giggle in delight as he continued to watch the incoming Gallian ships as they got closer and closer. In the far distance, he knew that the opposing enemy no doubt watched the spectacle of these Gallian ships as they sailed into Albion. He wondered what they thought. Perhaps as exhausted as they were, they would just throw their arms down and flee right there. That would be good. Then he wouldn't have to fight at all.

Gradually, gradually, the Albion ships flew into the village of New Cromwell and past the Tristanian army. Cromwell watched his army stationed nearby as they began to cheer the Gallian arrival.

BANG BANG BANG.

As he struggled to open a second bottle of wine, Cromwell couldn't help but grumble as someone loudly knocked on the door

"It's open, it's open," he cried out.

With another loud bang, the door to the office swung open. Wentworth stood in the threshold. His face was pale with shock and horror, and without a word he rushed up and grabbed Cromwell, whom instinctively latched onto his general's arms in return.

"W-what are you doing, man? Why are you panicking?"

The general abruptly let go of Cromwell and grabbed the desk. He was trembling throughout his body. Cromwell couldn't tell why.

"M-my spy… Sheffield…"

_Sheffield, _thought Cromwell through the haze of alcohol? _Who was that?_ Oh, right, Sheffield. The secretary he intended to execute and who was no longer a threat.

"Oh, her? You have impeccable timing, Wentworth. I no longer need to worry about Sheffield in the slightest. Call off your spy. She's no longer a threat; I'll take care of her myself later."

"..."

Wentworth mumbled something which Cromwell couldn't hear. But even then, a sixth sense within his body slowly began to pierce a haze through the alcohol.

"I couldn't hear that, Wentworth. What's wrong?"

With that question, Wentworth lit up, and once again grabbed Cromwell.

"My spy tracked her! Followed her over the past day! And she rode off about four hours ago, and so he followed her.

AND SHE BOARDED A GALLIAN SHIP! Your Majesty, Sheffield's a spy of Gallia! We can't trust her! We can't trust Gallia! We need to get out of here now and get our army to-"

In his panic, Wentworth had continued forcing Cromwell back towards the balcony. And then the two looked at the Gallian ships. And in their shock and horror, they realized that dozens of them had arrived in New Cromwell, and their cannons were pointed directly at the Mayor's building where the Albion flag had been raised.

"Oh, no…"

Wentworth gasped out those words, but then he heard a small giggle from his master.

"Your Excellency?"

Cromwell's eyes lit up. With a single smooth gesture, he grabbed Wentworth's arms and tossed the general over the balcony. Wentworth flailed helplessly as he flew through the air, only to land in a cart of hay underneath.

"Ptooh! Ugh…"

Groaning and spitting clumps of hay and grass out of his mouth as he struggled to extricate himself from the cart, Wentworth looked up at the balcony. He saw that Cromwell was also looking down upon him, the leader of Albion's expression filled with a peculiar serenity.

"Get out of here, Wentworth. Your king commands you to live, for my sake as well as Albion!"

The tone of those words made it clear that it was not a request. It was an order, the last order given by the final leader of the Holy Republic of Albion. And Wentworth knew that it had to be obeyed, as he struggled out of the cart and dashed off. But even as he did so, he heard the last loud remarks of his master.

"I am Oliver Cromwell! Leader of the Holy Republic of Albion! I am nobody's puppet! Not Gallia, not Joseph's and not you, Sheffield!"

Cromwell extended his arms to the sky as he addressed the Gallian ships. For the first time in his life, his voice spoke without the slightest hint of the fear which had plagued his life.

"I will curse you both, traitors alike! Brimir will curse you! I do not know what you are after, but I swear that I will come back from the grave! And your dreams will turn into ashes, and your desires into dust! When you are destroyed, not by me, perhaps not by Albion, but by someone greater than you scum, remember my anger and my wrath!

AND CURSE THE DAY YOU WERE BORN, YOU-"

And then the cannons from dozens of Gallian ships fired upon the building where Cromwell stood.

The building was demolished in an instant.


	31. The Emperor: Chapter 4

"_Let nobody think Stalin might reconquer Germany from the Urals! It is as if I were installed in Slovakia, and could set out from there to reconquer the Reich!"_

Adolf Hitler

…

…

"It's over! Long live Tristania!"

Guiche de Gramont heard the shouts and chants of praises throughout the camp. He had seen it, as well as everyone else in the army. The Gallian air fleet had appeared over the skies of Albion and at first his comrades in the Guard as well as the rest of the army became upon apprehensive at the sight of so many ships. Even as soldiers rushed to prepare their weapons should the worst arrived, men whispered to one another in panic and concern about how they could survive an attack from both Gallia and Albion.

But the Gallian ships had surprised everyone. Instead of allying with Albion, they had bombarded and attacked the Albion forces. As he continued to walk, Guiche could hear the din of battle from the location of the enemy camp. No matter the result, everyone knew at that moment that the war was over. Even if Gallia lost, Albion would be too weak to defeat their army, and Tristanian could just march in and mop up the remaining forces and crush Cromwell. Gallia was the deciding force; Albion could no more than stand against Tristain and Gallia than Tristain could stand against Gallia and Albion.

Discipline had consequently broken down in the Tristanian army due to the celebrations. Men, regardless of their social status or origin, hugged one another and cheered for victory, for their homes, and even to their captain. Even if Napoleon hadn't actually led them to victory, he had kept them alive. He had saved many lives that night in Saxe-Gotha through his organized retreat and had averted total disaster. Now all of the soldiers could return home to a peaceful land while hailed as victorious warriors. Besides, their leader remained popular among the troops. He connected to them in a way that none of their commanders had even done before and was popular. The Tristanian soldiers weren't willing to follow him to the ends of the earth or break the rules of reality to fight with him now, but he remained well-liked. And so the celebration and cheers of the victorious army continued.

But for Guiche there was nothing to celebrate. Nothing at all.

So as his comrades celebrated, he slipped away from the Tristanian camp and began to walk…somewhere. Guiche possessed no plan to go somewhere in particular. He just put one foot in front of the other and stared doggedly at the landscape in front of him. It had been the first time he had noticed how beautiful it was. The terrain consisted of rolling, lush hills and beautiful grass that appeared as if it was a scene from a painting and not a battlefield. Guiche remembered reading about a Germanian thinker who had proclaimed that one should contemplate art as a way to escape from the sufferings of this world. Perhaps he could calm himself and avoid _those_ thoughts by observing nature.

"Huh?"

He had walked a fair distance away from the encampment, but Guiche saw a pair of figures talking to one another at the top of a hill. Both of them had their backs to him, but Guiche recognized one of them instantly. No one ever mentioned it in front of Napoleon, but everyone made fun of him behind his back for that hat he wore seemingly at all times. Guiche had no idea where he found that monstrosity, nor did he desire to know. Yet while he could identify Napoleon from two hundred yards because of that thing, Guiche didn't know who the other person was. He also wore a black hat, though it was circular and slouched over his head. A white travelling cloak covered his shirt and also prevented Guiche from seeing any uniform and identification.

Guiche decided to approach the pair. The two continued to stand there talking as he got closer, though he couldn't hear anything they said. But when he was about thirty feet away, the other man bowed towards Napoleon and mounted the nearby horse. He passed Guiche as he rode off, and the boy noticed that an emblem of crossed wands rested on the front of his shirt. That was…

Realizing who that figure likely had been, Guiche dashed up the rest of the way to Napoleon. The commander's back was towards Guiche. After the messenger departed, he had pulled a small military telescope from under his coat and was looking towards the battlefield. This particular hill was a bit taller than the others nearby and thus made for a strong vantage point, Guiche realized. He could actually see the battle between the Albion and Gallian forces to some degree. Yet while he wondered about how Napoleon had discovered such a useful location, he also thought about the first man, the person who had worn the symbol of Gallia.

"That man was from Gallia, sir?"

"Yes," Napoleon responded while still holding the telescope. "A messenger. King Joseph Gaul desires to talk with me. I'll be heading to his flagship the _Bucentaure_ shortly."

"Alone?"

Napoleon shrugged.

"He said I could bring bodyguards, but there's no point. Gallia is strong, and they brought a lot of soldiers. They're destroying the Albion forces with little effort. They could destroy us with only a little more. There's no reason to bring a bodyguard when they could kill me anyways."

Guiche didn't respond. While he didn't like the idea of his superior officer going alone, an instinct within him said that it was probably better not to object. Instead, the two continued to look out on the battlefield. But out here on that hill, Guiche realized that was the wrong word. The Albion forces were running pell-mell from the battlefield. Only the Tristanian forces whom had been possessed continued to fight, but they were outnumbered and outgunned. They were slaughtered en masse with magic spells and gunfire.

"This is a slaughter, a massacre. This isn't war." Guiche breathed.

Napoleon nodded. He closed the telescope and finally turned towards Guiche. The young boy saw how tense he looked.

"It's absolutely disgusting," Napoleon observed. "I had hoped to save our men who had been possessed by Albion's foul magic. But it looks like I won't get the chance given Gallia's ferocity."

"What? But that's not right. Sir, you need to stop them!"

"I had the messenger ask King Joseph to stop fighting before we talk, but I doubt that will actually occur. He has no reason to stop."

He grumbled a little bit , and then turned towards Guiche. The young boy instantly turned his eyes away, but Napoleon continued to look at him for a few seconds more.

"You're upset that I selected your older brother to be one of my lieutenants, aren't you?"

Guiche jumped at those words. He had heard about it, about how Napoleon seemed to be able to understand people by looking at it. But to see and experience it first-hand was different.

"H-how, that's not true!"

The words came out with a little more force than he expected. But Guiche couldn't help but avoid the fact that he had left the encampment because of the smoldering resentment in his heart. He had of course, performed his duty as a soldier and noble of Tristain. But that was only the duty of a Gramont. He had performed no deeds of glory and had earned no treasures or tales of victories. Over the course of this war, a war where Tristain had fought for its very survival, he had done absolutely nothing. He had trained with the Guard and had made some friends. Martin had particularly warmed up to Guiche after their battle. But while he had marched from the Academy to Rosais to Albion, he had never fought in a battle. And now his oldest brother, the person he had been chasing his whole life, had been made one of the main lieutenants of the Tristain Army. It was intolerable.

Guiche lapsed into silence out of embarrassment. As Napoleon took notice, he sighed and scratched his chin.

"There's no need to be so impatient, Guiche. You are young. There will be more wars, and you can obtain your honor and glory there."

"What-!"

Those outrageous words made Guiche lose his composure. He threw his arms about wildly.

"Tristain hasn't been in a war for about three hundred years before this, Captain Bonaparte! There won't be another one in my lifetime! This was my one shot at honor and glory, my one chance to show that I'm the equal to my brothers! Now it's gone, and Robert will go home as a lieutenant, noticed and loved by everyone in my family while I'll return to being a laughingstock!"

"You're wrong. Guiche de Gramont, things are beginning to change in this land. Forever. There will be more wars, more times when you can finally enter the battlefield. This little conflict with Albion will not be the greatest moment of your life."

Napoleon stepped off the hill and began to walk away from it and towards Guiche. He stopped in front of the boy, and then clapped his hands on Guiche's shoulders.

"You will have your moments. I chose to work with Louise because I believed her to be special. I believe the same with you. If you continue to wait for your chance with absolute certainty, Guiche, I promise you it will come. It will then up to you to seize it."

Guiche hesitated as he pondered what to say to those strong words. But then Napoleon interjected again.

"In fact, I believe I have a perfect opportunity for you. Your familiar is a mole, correct?"

…

Twenty minutes later, Napoleon arrived at a hill near the Gallian ships on horseback. The messenger had not actually told him the location of the _Bucentaure_. Instead, Napoleon had received a letter of identification and had been asked to wait here for a courtier who would take him to the flagship of the Gallian fleet.

The courtier arrived fifteen minutes later. It was not the same person, but he wore the same uniform and hat like the previous messenger. The courtier rode up to Napoleon and stopped, though he did not dismount.

"Greetings, Captain Napoleon Bonaparte. I am a servant of the great King Joseph Gaul. I have been instructed to show you the fullest extent of our hospitality."

"Of course," Napoleon said. "I assume you are here to escort me to the _Bucentaure?_"

The courtier shook his head.

"In due time. But my Majesty wishes to expound upon the greatness of our history and our culture first. He has instructed me to give you a short tour of our ships."

Napoleon inwardly groaned. He hated this about monarchs. How they always, always had to do the pompous stuff before they received anyone. But he had no choice.

"Very well. Lead the way."

The courtier nodded and rode towards the fleet. Napoleon followed him, but the courtier stopped shortly afterwards in front of the nearest ship. He pointed at it.

"This is the _Rouen_, one of the prides of our navy. It was constructed in…"

It took only a short amount of time for Napoleon to remember that "short" is a vague, meaningless term. King Joseph Gaul had apparently instructed the courtier to give a detailed history on every single ship that had flown to Gallia. The courtier mentioned how many guns each ship had, when it was constructed, and all sorts of details about the ship, no matter how large or small it was. And Gallia had sent over a hundred ships to Albion.

Two hours later, the courtier and Napoleon at last arrived at the final ship, the _Bucentaure_. Both of them wore serene expressions, but Napoleon was irritated to say the least. The headache which he had endured ever since Louise's departure had not helped during this pointless riding.

"Please, Captain Napoleon." The courtier said.

The flagship was not capable of landing on the terrain of landing on normal ground, but as Napoleon approached the ship and identified himself, a rope ladder was flung down. Napoleon dismounted from his horse and walked towards the ladder.

"Thank you for listening so kindly, Captain Napoleon. I hope you have a productive chat with His Majesty."

As the courtier gave his farewells, Napoleon idly wondered whether he could just draw his sword and impale the man. But instead, he climbed up the ladder and finally threw himself onto the deck. Sailors and workers milled about on the ship, but Napoleon saw that two people stood in front of him. The first figure, a large, imposing blue-haired man wearing a mantle, bent down and helped him up while the second person, a dark-haired woman, stood back and watched.

"How do you do, how do you do?" the man asked. "I am King Joseph Gaul. You're Captain Napoleon Bonaparte, the leader of this great Tristanian army, right?"

He had been the first person in this land to pronounce his name incorrectly, Napoleon observed. For some reason, Joseph gave a special emphasis to the "na" syllable in his last name. For now, Napoleon ignored it and nodded.

"Ah, that's good, that's good!" Joseph happily cried. "It's a pleasure meeting you! Not that I exactly know what we're going to talk about. But Sheffield here decided that it was good to meet with the commander of the Albion forces, especially in light of Your Majesty's death."

The words tumbled out of Joseph's mouth as he pushed the dark woman forward to introduce her, but then in an instant he covered his mouth with his hand. But it was too late. Napoleon had focused on dusting himself off while Joseph prattled, but he sharply looked up upon hearing the words of the Gallian king.

"Did Albion kill Henrietta?"

The woman frowned at Napoleon's statement but Joseph seemed to give it no mind. Instead, he walked forward and wrapped Napoleon up in a giant hug. The Emperor gave an initial struggle in response, though it was no use. Joseph was a huge man, at least a foot taller than Napoleon and clearly far stronger, and Napoleon was a bit weary after the long tour.

"I'm sorry, Bonaparte! I'm so, so sorry. I shouldn't have said it right here. Perhaps this isn't a good time to talk and you need time to mourn?"

"No," Napoleon responded without hesitating. "This is the best time to talk for me."

"Well", said Joseph as he disengaged himself. "That is splendid! Or, not so splendid given the circumstances. Perhaps "good" would be a better word? No, that doesn't really work…"

The Gallian King then abruptly ignored Napoleon and began to talk to himself about which adjective suited the atmosphere the best. The sailors who watched their king gave snorts of laughter. Napoleon in the meantime glanced at Sheffield. The woman shrugged her shoulder and began to tap Joseph on the back.

But then for some reason, the ever-present headache which had assailed Napoleon since Louise's departure sharpened in intensity. He was forced to take a step back from the pain, even as Sheffield had managed to snap Joseph out of his reverie by suggesting "melancholy."

"Oh, oh, yes, that is a good word! Hey, Bonaparte, are you all right?"

The pain seemingly only lasted a second before it subsided. Napoleon managed to right himself up quickly enough to avoid great suspicion. Now was not the time to deal with it.

"I'm fine. Is there a place where you would like to talk?"

"Yes, this ship contains a cabin just for me. Splendid, isn't it! I'm glad you brought no bodyguards. That's always the best way to form trust between people! But I'll have to bring Sheffield along, because she'll help me with all the little things. So, shall we go?"

Napoleon looked around first. He glanced at the sails, and then at the sailors, and then at Sheffield. Finally, his gaze lingered on Joseph's face for a bit longer, and then he nodded.

The three of them thus descended into the ship towards his cabin. It was a long walk, partly because of the size of the _Bucentaure_, partly because King Joseph kept getting lost in his own ship. After six dead ends, many sighs, and even more suggestions from Sheffield, they finally arrived.

"It's a bit crowded, Bonaparte, but it'll do just fine. Allow me to let you in!"

Joseph opened the door and the three walked in. Napoleon wrinkled his nose in irritation. Joseph's cabin was a crowded, disorganized room filled with junk. Numerous chess sets lay about the room, and a board located on what appeared to be Joseph's desk had a game in progress. However, the board was oddly arranged. The chess pieces were not facing the back and front of the desk, but rather the sides, as if the person sitting behind the desk had been playing with himself.

A table rested by the door with two chairs on opposite sides. Napoleon and Joseph sat down while Sheffield leaned against the wall. A decanter filled with red liquid and a pair of glasses also lay on the table, and Joseph eagerly picked up it up and poured the drink into both glasses

"Some of the best wine in Gallia. You should visit our fair country someday, Bonaparte. There will be plenty of time for sightseeing and travelling with the war over."

He pushed one glass over to Napoleon while he drained the other one. Napoleon looked at the liquid, but he did not pick up the glass, which caused Joseph to laugh loudly.

"Oh, come on, Bonaparte, it's not poison! We're all friends here! Now, why don't we have a chat and-"

"Before we begin anything, I have a request. I didn't feel like mentioning it in front of your sailors."

Joseph nodded and stroked his beard.

"Of course, of course, Bonaparte! We should try to make you comfortable before we have a pleasant talk! What is it?"

Napoleon tossed his head in Sheffield's direction.

"Tell her to leave. Now."

Sheffield stiffened a bit at those words, but the Gallian King gave a chuckle and raised his arms helplessly.

"I do want to make you comfortable, Bonaparte, but that's not fair. I can't do that. I don't even know what we would talk about if Sheffield wasn't around. She's the one who knows all the official stuff better than I do and-"

"Oh, stop it."

For the first time since he had met Joseph, irritation crept into Napoleon's voice. He leaned back into his chair and picked up the glass.

"You may be able to fool your courtiers like that, King Joseph Gaul. You may be able to fool those sailors up on the deck. But don't think you can act like the buffoon in front of me and I'll buy it. If you continue to do so, then I'm going to leave, because I will not be some puppet you can mess around with by acting like a buffoon and giving me a pointless tour of your fleet. Quit playing around already."

Having finished his statement, Napoleon drained his glass. Joseph said nothing. He looked away from Napoleon and seemed to stare down at the ground. But then the Emperor heard a small chuckle from Sheffield.

"Those are some nice tattoos you have on your left hand, Bonaparte."

Napoleon looked down at his hand, where the Gandalfr runes remained.

"You're familiar with them?"

Sheffield leered at Napoleon, and then moved one hand to her forehead. It was covered by thick, dark hair which she brushed aside to reveal a set of runes. They were inscribed into her forehead like the runes on Napoleon's left hand, and he could see that while they looked similar, the runes were not exactly the same.

"My master told you that my name was Sheffield, but I'll introduce myself properly for you. I am Myozunitonirun, the Mind of God, a Void familiar to King Joseph Gaul and the greatest and most powerful of them all. To meet another Void familiar, namely Gandalfr, the Left Hand of God? That is a great honor."

She continued to leer at Napoleon. But then her smile dropped upon watching his reaction. Napoleon simply stared blankly at her for several seconds. Then he slowly began to smile. The smile turned into a snort, and then the snort gave away to complete laughter. He continued to lose his restraint by the second and eventually doubled over as the room filled with the base, hysterical sound of unrestrained laughing.

"Hey, King Joseph Gaul." Napoleon gasped out. "Your servant may be important to running your court, but I didn't think we needed a court jester for something this important!"

"What?"

Sheffield shrieked in fury. The runes on the forehead began to glow as she faced Napoleon.

"Do you doubt my power, Gandalfr? Compared to you, I am the superior familiar! Do you wish to continue to mock me and face my wrath?"

"Oh, sure," Napoleon replied. "Go ahead. Show me how much strength you possess and how great those scratches on your head are, _servant."_

He slowly emphasized the final word. Something about the way he said it made Sheffield stop, though her runes continued to glow.

"Yes, I am a servant. So are you! Our past incarnations were servants of Brimir himself. That is true power! Do you not recognize the great power that you possess, Gandalfr?

Napoleon's only response was to redouble his laughter. It became so loud and intense that for a second he fell out of his chair, though he caught and righted himself. His voice still broke with bouts of laughter.

"Power? This?" Napoleon said as he held up his left hand. "This isn't power, Myo-however you call it. Power is authority, to rule, and to control. Using a sword well isn't power, commanding the person who uses that sword is. And I accomplished that without Gandalfr. I am more than Captain Bonaparte. Before my partner summoned me, I was the Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte and the supreme ruler of a country far greater than any on Helgekinia. I fought armies which outnumbered me five to one and survived; I conquered all the relevant parts of the world! And I'm supposed to be intimidated by some woman, a servant, who is content to serve others despite the fact that she proclaims herself to be powerful? I have never heard of a better joke!"

"What a ridiculous statement!" spat Sheffield. "I am a servant, a proud one to my great Master. You're just disappointed because you know that your master is weak, and that's how you justify it."

"My **partner **is skilled and capable. But that person does not possess my capabilities nor does he necessarily share my desires. If he requests something from me, then perhaps I will do it. But we work together for our own interests, nothing more!"

Napoleon continued to laugh some more as he now rested his head on the table out of amusement. Eventually, he calmed down as the laughter turned into small chuckles. Sheffield opened her mouth several times as if she wanted to say something, but she never did. Instead, she brushed her hair back to where it was and contemptuously stared at Napoleon. But then a deep gruff, voice spoke up.

"You meant 'if she requests something from me', did you not?"

It did not need to be said from where that statement came from, as Napoleon looked at King Joseph Gaul. But instead of the happy grin, Joseph wore a arrogant smile as he poured himself another glass of wine. The fanciful, whimsical king who spent his time fiddling over silly words had disappeared and the true, unhidden personality of the King of Gallia had emerged.

"You may be no one's servant, Napoleon Bonaparte, but it's touching to see you attempt to protect your master's identity through such a manner. But it accomplished nothing, as I already know the identity of your master. I knew that Louise Francoise le Blanc de la Valliere was a Void mage the minute she destroyed the village of Tarbes. I didn't know that she had summoned a familiar, much less Gandalfr. Still, it is truly interesting to see the Gandalfr familiar, the Shield of God, in command of the Tristanian forces in Albion."

"It was an accidental slip of the tongue." Napoleon coolly responded. "And thank you, King Joseph. I'm glad to see that you knew how to pronounce my name correctly after all."

Joseph chuckled in response, before turning to Sheffield.

"I no longer have a reason for you to be here. Leave us."

"B-but Master, this man is dangerous. He is the Gandalfr familiar. He could kill you before I could intervene to protect you. Then what would I do?"

"He won't do that," Joseph responded. "This is not a conversation between a commanding officer and me; this is a discussion between kings. He is a king, any member of royalty can tell that from his demeanor."

After hesitating, Sheffield nodded. She quickly bent down on one knee before Joseph before she stood up and laugh, though she threw a final dirty glance at Napoleon. As the door closed Joseph turned to him.

"I did tell Sheffield that you won't kill me because we are kings, but given what you said to her, I must say that I think I know what really happened on that night in Saxe-Gotha."

Napoleon gave a thin smile as he leaned back into his chair.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. And even if I did, you don't have any proof. There is none. But yes, you're right. I have no reason to kill you."

"Very well." Joseph said. "And you're right about the fact that I have no proof. I don't think there ever will be anyone other than myself who will be capable of figuring out what you did – I wouldn't be able to were it not for some letters I received from Cromwell which explained the situation from his perspective. I had already destroyed them to hide the fact of our cooperation from spies, and even then I don't know the details. Perhaps I could have saved them to blackmail you, but what's done is done."

He smiled again and drained his cup before he continued.

"At any rate, I didn't ask you here to talk about that, or even Gandalfr and Myozunitonirun – Sheffield just broke in like that, probably to intimidate you. There is something much more important that I'm interested in, which is the future of Helgekinia."

"I'm guessing then that you came here to make the commander of the Albion army a proposition."

Joseph shrugged in response.

"I attacked Albion because I hadn't anticipated Cromwell doing as well as he did and that had the potential to become a real problem. But things have changed, especially since the commander is quite a different person and played a different role in the war than I had known or expected. This is especially so because while Princess Henrietta is dead, the Prince of Wales was only captured by Albion and is still alive. Both Tristain and Albion are going to undergo a lot of change in this timeframe, and even if you were not Gandalfr, as the temporary commander of this army, you will be an important person in your country. I intend to manage this change in a… beneficial direction.

"So," Napoleon said, "What are you proposing?"

Joseph smiled. It was not a pleasant smile.

"I'll have my forces leave Albion. I'll declare that I intervened purely because you managed to convince me through letters of the necessity of your cause. I'll even forge evidence to do so. And Tristain can do what you like with the country.

In return, Albion possesses two magical artifacts of great value which belong to their Royal Family. One is the Founder's Music Box. The other is the Water Ruby. In return for my help, I want both of them."

Napoleon pondered his words.

"What are those magical artifacts and why do you want them?"

Joseph shrugged.

"I have my reasons, and I don't feel like discussing them with you."

Napoleon inwardly grumbled. He cursed himself for not knowing what they did.

"If Wales is still alive, why are you talking to me and not to him?"

"Asking you to do it kills two birds with one stone. If I asked and persuaded Wales, I'd resolve my interests with Albion, but not Tristain. Besides, I have to keep up my reputation as the Incompetent King which I couldn't do if I pried those from Wales. "

Joseph leaned forward and poured himself yet another glass. He held it aloft as he examined Napoleon.

"I can negotiate with you about what aid I can give you, but I want those two things. That isn't negotiable. So, what do you intend to do, Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte?"

…

"Help me, Father! Help me!"

On a raised platform in the middle of a village, a boy screamed and pleaded. His terrified cries drowned out the sound of a nearby priest who read from a book. But there was nothing he could do. His arms were tied behind him, and his head was fastened in a sort of wooden stock which locked around his neck. All he could do was to helplessly flail his body about and beg for his life.

For the boy was the son of the Count of Noyon. Three weeks ago, he had imbibed several bottles of his father's finest whiskey and thus set out on a drunken rampage in Valliere territory. Now, in the same village which had borne the brunt of his destruction, a burly man who wore a black hood stood behind him, his giant axe gleaming in the morning sun.

"Shut up, you stinking murderer! Burn in hell with your magic!"

A tomato flew through the air and impacted Noyon's son in the face. He coughed and spluttered only to be outdone by the sound of jeers and laughter. The villagers had thronged about in the village square. Executions always served as a good source of entertainment, and the fact that the criminal had destroyed many of their homes and property only served to exacerbate their anger. Were it not out of fear of the retribution that their Lady Karin would enact for breaking her justice, they would have stormed the platform and torn him limb for limb. And as everyone knew, Karin was watching the execution.

It's not like she was in the village square with the rest of the peasants. Miles upon miles away in her castle, she sat at her throne. But a crystal ball rested on a table which had been set next to her chair, showing the anguished expression on the boy's face. Karin derived no pleasure from watching him. But this was justice, and she had to watch the roots of the law that she meted out. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. From Karin's viewpoint, the cleanliness and order of her justice served as a clear sign of its beauty.

The priest continued to pray, the boy continued to plead, and the crowd continued the jeer while the executioner stood by his victim in a stony silence. But back in Karin's castle, Jerome once again wheeled in the tea cart. Karin noted that besides the usual pot of tea and cups, there also rested a book and a large white envelope."

"I see that Siesta has been making good progress."

The butler nodded as he prepared the tea.

"This is the first book she has finished. Apparently it is about farming techniques and improving agriculture. Siesta told me that she's discovered all sorts of ways to improve farming. For example, apparently if you plant crops closer to one another, they'll help each other to grow."

"I see," Karin observed. "That is interesting. I will read it later. What about the letter?"

The butler finished pouring the tea. He handed the cup as well as the letter and book to Karin.

"I received it from a messenger not fifteen minutes ago. He said it was urgent, so I thought to prepare you a cup while you read it."

Karin nodded in thanks. She pulled out her wand and used it to slit the envelope open, and then began to read. Jerome watched her eyes scan further down the page, and became satisfied that his master was content. He thus took a few steps back and began to wheel the tea cart out of the room.

SMASH.

Not a word was uttered. Karin didn't need to. Before she was a member of the Valliere family, she had been Karin of the Heavy Wind. She was the greatest wind mage in the history of Helgekinia, a legend who could battle entire armies and fire dragons by herself and with the spell which had become her namesake. A normal mage would have not been able to blow a massive hole in the thick stone walls of the Great Hall by just pointing their wand and casting a spell without a word. But Karin was not a normal mage. Even as Jerome had served under Her Ladyship for so many years, he gaped at its power. The tea cart had been torn in half by the spell, and if he had taken five more steps, he would have been caught in its radius and likely killed.

The butler without a word looked up at his master. Karin's right arm was outstretched as it still held the wand which had destroyed the hall in her anger, but her left hand gripped the paper. For her to lose control in such a way…

"What has happened, My Lady?"

Jerome slowly spoke those words, concerned about setting off Karin even more. But she just remained as she was for a few seconds more before she lowered the letter. Her face had turned pale white from shock.

"It's an account of the war I received. Apparently, it is over. Gallia finished off the Albion forces. But…"

"But?"

Karin hesitated a few moments longer. Her arms trembled as she looked at the letter.

"Her Majesty is dead."

The butler gaped. For a few, long minutes, the two just stood there, thinking about the implications. Jerome finally asked another question.

"What about your daughter, Louise? Is she-"

"Oh, she's dead."

The butler's eyes widened in shock.

"Are you serious?"

"The letter doesn't actually say whether Louise died, but she was on the battlefield," Karin responded. "So she's dead. Either she died attempting to protect Her Majesty from whatever killed her…

Or she didn't, and is still alive. And in that case, I'll kill her myself for failing at her duty."

"B-but Your Ladyship…"

"Are you disagreeing with me, Jerome? With the Rule of Steel?"

Jerome instantly remained silent. He knew better than anyone else that however rare they were, his master could exert incredible power in her rages. Glancing at him one more time, Karin rose from her throne.

"I will be retreating to my bedchambers. I am not to be disturbed for any reason, Jerome. If anyone knocks on my door for the rest of the day, I will answer them with the Heavy Wind. Take to care to thank Siesta for me."

"I would note that she has been far busier these days." Said Jerome. "She's been sending less time at the graves of her children and she has spent times talking with the villagers. I think she will manage to improve and recover from her loss. I will be happy to see that."

"I agree," Karin noted. "Still, keep a close eye on her. If Her Majesty is dead, then I'll definitely need those books ready as soon as possible."

Jerome bowed in response and remained in the Great Hall. Karin walked through the stony halls and past the paintings of Valliere ancestors. It was only when she reached the safety of her room and closed the door that she began to weep. While she did so, she realized that she had instinctively taken her crystal ball with her from the throne room. The prayers had finished, and the executioner at this moment raised his axe. And in the confines of her room, no one heard Karin whisper two words.

"I'm sorry."

…

Sheffield grumbled as she made her way up to the main deck. How dare that lowly commander mock her? She should have killed him right there and saved her master so much trouble. Master Joseph only needed the Void mage, Louise, for his plans after all. What became of the Gandalfr familiar was not his concern, and so they should have killed him and removed the protection to Louise.

And what arrogant words! She didn't serve Joseph just because she was a servant; she had reasons to do so! But for a familiar to not bother protecting or thinking about its master was ridiculous! She couldn't help but feel sorry for Louise, not that that would keep her from doing her duty.

She opened the door to the deck and stormed to the bow with a huff. She looked down below the ship, towards Albion. It was a beautiful country and its terrain was truly the complete opposite of her old home in Rub al Khali. But her home didn't matter. All that was important was fulfilling Joseph's desires and making herself useful. Then perhaps one day, he could understand her feelings.

"Oi, oi, oi. Joseph didn't throw you out of his deck now, did he?"

And hearing that voice definitely did not improve Sheffield's mood as she turned away from the battlefield.

"That's none of your business. You look just as beautiful as the last time I met you, Wardes."

Wardes smiled and bent on one knee, but then he glanced to his right.

"Show the proper decorum, Menvil."

The fire mage glared at Wardes before he shrugged his shoudlers.

"So, you're telling me Gallia's the country that really hired me, not Albion? Pretty disgusting to skulk like that."

"No," responded Sheffield. "Gallia didn't hire you. I hired you."

"What's the difference?" said Menvil. "I've heard the story from the sailors. You're King Joseph's secretary, but you're always rutting after him and-"

"YOU!"

Sheffield flung something at Menvil. He dodged it easily and pulled out his wand as the object flew past him.

"What? You're denying it? Now isn't that precious, Wardes? It's just like a little schoolgirl who accidentally runs into the guy he likes. What an adorable stor-"

Menvil then felt something coming from behind him. He instinctively ducked and saw the object that Sheffield had thrown rush past him again. Now that he had a second chance to look at it, he realized what it was.

"An alviss. A little magic doll which can work autonomously. That's quite an interesting toy you have there, Sheffield."

"I have a few more of these, White Flame." Sheffield spat. "Would you like to see them?"

Menvil fiercely grinned in response. But before either of them could make a move, Wardes strode in between them with his one arm raised in the sky.

"I wouldn't have a problem with you two killing each other, but this is King Joseph Gaul's ship. The two of you can find a better place to resolve your differences than aboard the most important Gallian ship."

Sheffield and Menvil glowered at each other, and then at Wardes. But they knew he was right. Menvil put away his wand, and the alviss retreated underneath Sheffield's clothes. Wardes sighed in relief, and then turned to Sheffield.

"So, does King Joseph have any further missions he wants us to do after our supervision of Cromwell?"

"Yes," admitted Sheffield. "There is one, a big one. But before you do that, the two of you are going to have to go back to Albion. There's something His Majesty needs you to do. One of our assets has gone missing, and that could affect our future plans."

Menvil rolled his eyes.

"Assets? Quit acting so spooky and mysterious, Sheffield. If you want us to get something or someone, tell us who it is and I'll go after it. Okay?"

"Fine. Fouquet has gone missing."

Wardes looked at Sheffield in confusion.

"You gave her an impossible mission on that night when I broke her out. You ordered her to kill Princess Henrietta. Why does it matter that she's gone missing?"

"Fouquet knows too much. About me, about Joseph, about how we work. I had hoped to eliminate her by giving her such a mission. But she hasn't reported in ever since we told her to return after Henrietta's death. That's a problem, and I want you to find her."

Sheffield looked back towards the bow and down at the continent below her.

"She was in Albion in the last reports, waiting for her chance to strike. Head there and find her as soon as possible. I don't care whether she's dead or alive."

…

"Are you serious?"

Julio Chesare gasped out the words which everyone wanted to say. The sun was now red as it began to set. Napoleon sat on a chair in his tent, his expression of total dejectment.

"Yes. Gallia has no reason to lie about this. Her Majesty is dead. She died in the attack on Saxe-Gotha."

His lieutenants stood in front of him, utterly stunned by the news which he had uttered. He had returned from the Gallian ship about an hour ago and had gone straight to his tent before he had summoned them. All of the lieutenants had so many questions to ask, but they said nothing.

"Inform the men as soon as possible. They have the right to know. But we don't have time to mourn yet."

"Don't have time?" Stewart said. "We have plenty of time! The war is over! We should take some time to mourn Her Majesty as soon as possible."

Napoleon shook his head.

"It won't be proper to mourn until we head home to Tristain. Until then, we're still an army. We'll head north to Londinium, both to rescue the Prince of Wales and to retrieve her body. Then we'll leave and hold a proper funeral for her.

In the meantime, inform the soldiers. But try to keep them calm. I don't want them rampaging and destroying Londinium out of anger when we arrive."

His words made sense, and as much as the generals hated it, they agreed.

"There isn't much to say afterwards", Napoleon continued. "This war is basically over, and we'll have peace again. It'll be up to us to continue to create a better future for Tristain with Her Majesty gone. Now, does anyone have anything further to report?"

He didn't expect anything. There was so much to do, but he had figured that his lieutenant would be too shocked by the news to do anything. Even he had been somewhat surprised to hear of her death, especially since he knew Henrietta was a capable mage. But then Stewart cleared his throat.

"Captain, I do have something to report about the elven girl and the orphanage."

Napoleon looked over at him in acknowledgment.

"I trust the men are safe then?"

"Well yes. The men are fine. It appears that there really was an orphanage there, and we gave them food and made sure they were well-treated. The elven girl was delighted.

But…"

"But?" Napoleon said.

Stewart seemed awfully hesitant. He seemed to chew over his words for a few moments before he spoke.

"One of our men went poking in her house. And he discovered that Fouqet, the legendary thief and murderer, in one of the beds."

"What?"

Two people spoke up. Napoleon and Robert de Gramont looked at one another, and the latter turned to Napoleon.

"You understand, sir? The elf was hiding a criminal! That proves that she can't be trusted and-"

Napoleon simply raised his left hand in Gramont's direction, who immediately understood the gesture as a way of asking for silence. He turned back towards Stewart.

"Did you manage to capture her?"

Stewart nodded.

"She was asleep and away from her wand. It wasn't particularly difficult and apparently she surrendered without a fuss. They left the orphanage and have brought her back to the camp."

Napoleon mulled over Stewart's words as he pondered about what to do. He thought of Louise, who he had not seen for quite some time after he had sent her off. She had panicked and cried helplessly when she had returned that day and heard what that thief had done to her classmates. It had been pitiful to watch. But eventually he came to a decision.

"Bring her before me as soon as you can, Stewart. I would like to speak for her. Are there any further things to discuss?"

Robert de Gramont looked like there were many things he wanted to discuss, but he held his tongue. The other four lieutenants did not say anything, and so with a gesture Napoleon dismissed them. They filed out of the tent, leaving Napoleon alone with only his thoughts and a headache that just wouldn't go away.


	32. The Emperor: Chapter 5

"No proper work ethic these days."

Yet while Andre Giono grumbled those words to himself, there was no one around who could listen. In the middle of the day, his print shop should have been bustling with activity and noise. In fact, three hours ago, his workers had arrived at his shop, ready to fill the next sets of orders that continually came in these days. They had groaned and mumbled as Giono read them off with enthusiasm, but they had gotten to work without a word of complaint.

But that was before the news had spread all over the town of Her Majesty's death. Work had ceased immediately when the town crier rushed by, yelling the news for all to see. Many of the workers simply broke down in tears right then and there. Those that did not told their boss that they could not be expected to work today given the horrible and tragic news, especially as the noise of wailing could be heard all across the city of Tristania.

But Giono did not shed a single tear. He liked the princess and was sad about her death, but Giono was significantly older compared to his workers. He had been alive when Henrietta's father died, and he even remembered of the death of Henrietta's grandfather when he was a young man. The death of another monarch, even one as beautiful and gracious as Henrietta, was an event which Giono really didn't care much about one way or another beyond what it would do for his business. Everyone died, after all, and all the more so when you were off fighting in a faraway country. If he hadn't cried when his own wife had died of an illness nearly ten years ago, he definitely wouldn't cry over Her Majesty's death. Working and remaining strong served as the best means to honor her passing, he reasoned.

But his workers disagreed, and Giono was ultimately forced to concede. But even though the print shop remained empty, the orders remained at his desk and work had to be done. Giono for a moment contemplated the idea of resting within his room or going outside. He could hear the cries of the mourners outside and they would be interesting to watch. But with a sigh of his shoulders, he walked over to the desk where the orders lay and began to organize them. If his workers would not do their jobs for now, then he would simply do it himself. He'd probably dock their pay next time as a penalty.

He hummed a little tune as he continued his work for the next few minutes. But then without knocking, someone opened the door to his shop.

Giono looked up from his orders at the person who stood in the doorway. This individual was dressed completely in black. He wore a long black coat, a black shirt, and a wide-brimmed black hat. His thick, long beard and his eyes were also completely dark. He held a small wooden box in the crook of his left arm. One who encountered him in the street might think that he had dressed completely in mourning upon hearing of Henrietta's death.

But Giono only laughed upon seeing the individual. He left his desk and walked up to the man with a smile.

"Barabas! My friend! I haven't seen you in a while!"

The other man also gave a gruff laugh, before he leaned forward and kissed Giono on both cheeks.

"It's good to see you too, Giono. You've definitely improved since the last time I saw you."

The printer once again laughed.

"It's been about a year, right? The last time we saw each other was when you bailed me out of that jail after I had a little too much to drink, right?"

"Bailed out? Giono, I bribed the judge to let you go. After what you did with the donkey, the wooden duck toy, and those herbs, it's a wonder that he didn't try to have you drawn and quartered."

"Tristain's banned that for a century now."

"They would have made an exception."

Barabas patted Giono again and looked around the shop.

"Still, it's good to see that you've improved. It's quite an excellent little shop. I'm glad that my investment with you finally paid off."

Giono blinked for a few moments.

"So I blew some money you gave me on good wine. You don't expect me to pay all of it back, do you?"

"Well, let's see." Barabas said as he reached inside his coat and pulled out a notebook. "Over the last three years, I've given you about 200 new gold altogether to finance your little drinking incidents, which is about twice as much money as a day laborer makes in a year. Factor in 15% interest and over the years that comes down to about…"

Barabas perused his notebook for a few moments, and then looked at Giono. The printer's face had grown ashen as he had watched him calculate. But then Barabas loudly laughed again.

"Oh, come on, come on, Giono! Can't you take a joke?"

"It's not like I would know." Giono grumbled. "You moneylenders do take your debts pretty seriously."

Barabas shrugged.

"That's our job. Just like you take your printing seriously, I take my money and investments seriously. And business has been booming over the last few months given how fast the government's been borrowing to finance the war."

"I could write a report on your profits tomorrow." Giono mockingly threatened. "I think that would get the people upset. The Princess would likely have to default on you and…"

He slowly stopped as a confused expression appeared on his face. Barabas blinked and stared at Giono for a moment.

"Hey Giono, is something wrong?"

But Giono said nothing more for a few moments more. He continued to stare at the floor while he thought. Finally, he raised his head and looked at Barabas, though he still kept his puzzled appearance.

"Hey, Barabas. Who's in charge of this country now?"

Barabas thought about it for a moment, but then he shrugged.

"I'm not sure. I guess the throne goes back to the Queen. But…"

Barabas didn't finish his sentence. He didn't need to. Both men knew about the problem. The Queen of Tristain, Henrietta's mother, had been completely stricken with grief after the death of her husband. She had abdicated and given the throne to Henrietta as a result. The question became obvious. If she had been completely unable to run the country after the death of her husband, then how would she react to the death of her only child?

"Well the nobles will figure something out." Giono observed. But he saw Barabas's face grow dark at those words.

"Yeah," he muttered. "I'm sure those bloodsucking leeches will think of another scheme."

The printer groaned at that statement.

"Have they tried to rip you off again?"

"I've told you about it before, Andre. I'd rather loan a hundred gold pieces to the lowest beggar in this city than to any noble. The beggar may just fritter that money away on drink, but at least he'll admit that he did a bad thing. Nobles just fritter it away and then act completely shocked when I demand they pay back the loan. And then when I charge them higher interest rates because they're so risky, they go straight to Henrietta and demand that I lend to them at lower rates, which they promptly use to spiffy up their castle instead of investing it. It's not good for business."

He threw up one hand in frustration, but the two then lapsed into an awkward silence for a bit. But then Barabas spoke up again.

"Anyways, I might as well tell you why I'm here anyways."

He held up the wooden box.

"I was travelling through Tristain the last few weeks in order to collect the money which people owed me. One day, when I was resting, a little boy ran up to me with this box and asked me to deliver it to you. He said it contained an important book and that he wanted you to publish it."

"A little boy?" said Giono. "Any book he wrote can't be that important."

Barabas shook his head.

"He didn't write it himself. Someone told him to give it to me, but the boy wouldn't tell me who. I haven't opened it or looked inside, but I'd like to know what's inside.

He passed the box to Giono. It was surprisingly heavy, the printer noted. He carried the box to a nearby table and undid a latch. He looked inside with surprise and then finally lifted the contents out of the box. It turned out to be a large sheaf of pages. Giono quickly thumbed through them.

"It's about a hundred pages altogether." He stated. "Whoever sent this to me certainly must be very dedicated."

Nevertheless, Giono flipped to a random page and began to read. Barabas observed his expression. Giono looked confused as he glanced at the pages, and he saw that printer's expression grew more and more confused as his eyes travelled down the page. After only a minute or two, he finally looked up.

"Well?" Barabas asked. "Is this person's writing any good?"

Giono seemed to hesitate over his thoughts for a moment.

"It's very…interesting. You should take a look, Barabas. I have a feeling you might like it."

The moneylender walked over and glanced at the same page which Giono had read. Yet while Giono had appeared confused as he read the page, Barabas 's expression showed delight. As he finished, he laughed loudly.

"This is excellent! Most excellent! I like whoever wrote this very much. I should like to meet him some day."

He clapped his hands together and turned towards Giono as his beady eyes shone.

"How would you like another loan, Giono? I can give you a jumpstart; make sure you can print this text as soon as possible."

Giono couldn't help but groan.

"And how much interest would you charge for this?"

"Interest? For this? Two percent. No, make it one percent interest! Your business needs to expand anyways, and you won't get better terms than this! Just the sort of thing I'll do for my friends."

Barabas began to enthusiastically walk about the print shop while Giono watched; as he wildly gestured about ways which Giono could improve his shop. The papers continued to lie on the desk while the two talked. And if someone had stood by that desk at that moment, he would have seen these words at the top of the page:

_This is supposing the present race of kings in the world to have had an honorable origin; whereas it is more than probable, that could we take off the dark covering of antiquity, and trace them to their first rise, that we should find the first of them nothing better than the principal ruffian of some restless gang, whose savage manners or pre-eminence in subtlety obtained him the title of chief among plunderers; and who by increasing in power, and extending his depredations, over-awed the quiet and defenseless to purchase their safety by frequent contributions._

…

The streets of Londinium were deserted. No one left their buildings. But thousands of pairs of eyes stared at the conquering army which now marched through the streets of Londinium, their commander at the front.

It had been three days since Napoleon had talked with King Joseph. The Gallian ships had departed shortly afterwards, leaving the Tristanian forces alone to retake the capital and to liberate Wales. And Albion possessed no more armies which could hope to threaten the invaders.

Yet as Napoleon should have reveled in the joy of victory, he didn't feel anything. Part of the reason for this was simply due to his experience. He had marched through countless towns when he had fought in Europe. Compared to the cities of Prague or Naples or Berlin, Londinium just really wasn't all that impressive or imposing. In fact, Napoleon decided that Londinium was only slightly more cultured and interesting than Moscow, and that was accounting for the small fact that Tsar Alexander II had burned the city down in the face of Napoleon's advance.

But Napoleon had now become seriously concerned about Louise. He had no clue where she was. When she had received the fake letter from Jerome, she had promised to him that she would return to Albion before the end of the Silver Pentecostal. That had actually factored into his original plans. Louise would leave Albion long enough for his coup to successfully occur, and then she would return just in time to play a role in destroying the Albion forces. Yet even a week after the Silver Pentecostal had ended, there was no sign of her. She wasn't in immediate danger. The familiar bond meant that Napoleon could tell that much about his partner. But he couldn't tell where she was or what she was doing. For all he knew, Karin could have imprisoned her within the estate, and he would have to seek a way to break her out from the clutches of a powerful woman who seriously mistrusted him.

As Napoleon rode and worried, the march of the victorious warriors continued in total silence. The troops continued their parade for the next hour as the slow train of men continued their pace. However, it finally concluded as the Tristanian troops assembled in front of the Albion palace, the White Hall.

Napoleon gave the signals to his lieutenants, and the troops halted in front of it. He had given all of them orders about the temporary occupation of the city and thus they rode off and began to direct the bulk of the army. The Guard in the meantime had marched directly behind Napoleon, and he extended a finger.

"Guiche, Martin, Foucard. The three of you are coming with me in the castle."

The three of them nodded and followed directly behind Napoleon. They crossed the courtyard which remained as empty as the city. No one came to greet them as they reached the main doors and so Napoleon pushed them in himself. As he walked in with his bodyguards trailing behind him, he noted a solitary figure in the hall.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Prince Wales." Napoleon called out. "Have your countrymen had the good sense to put you back on the throne?"

Wales sat on the throne which occupied the center of the main hall. He was dressed in fine clothes befitting of a monarch, and on his hand rested a splendid blue ring. But his head was bowed, and he did not speak or move in the slightest in response to Napoleon. After several seconds had passed, Napoleon arched his eyebrows, and then signaled his guards to advance. As they walked forward, their footsteps echoed within the Hall and broke the silent and empty room. Nevertheless, Prince Wales did not move or speak.

"Do you suppose they killed him?" Guiche loudly whispered.

Napoleon gave no response as he strode forward. But Martin shook his head.

"Albion's not that stupid. Killing Wales when the war's already ended would just infuriate us, especially since we've lost our Princess. And I don't see any blood."

Napoleon finally stopped twenty feet away from Wales. He then took off his hat and respectfully bowed before him.

"Prince Wales, are you feeling all right?"

No response. Napoleon sighed and turned to Martin.

"It could be a trap. Martin, use your magic to rouse him."

The wind mage nodded, but Guiche stepped forward, a rose in his hand.

"Please, Captain. My magic is more suitable for this scenario."

Napoleon stared at Guiche for a few moments and then slowly nodded. He stepped forward in front of his captain and pointed the rose at the prince.

"_Genero_."

A petal from the rose flicked off and floated down to the ground. It then transformed into a tall metal golem, complete with a sword and shield. With a wave of Guiche's wand, the creature marched towards Wales, clanking all the way. The men waited with bated breath as the golem advanced to check on the health of Prince Wales. It advanced within ten feet from Wales, then five feet, and then it stood directly in front of the Prince. With another gesture from Guiche, it moved one of his arms to lift up his head.

"Oh, stop it."

The minute it touched him, Wales finally looked up. He slapped aside the golem's hand.

"Order him to put that away, Napoleon. I am not interested in being manhandled by a statue."

Napoleon bowed respectfully and glanced at Guiche. With a wave of the rose-wand, the golem sank through the floor as if it had never existed. Wale put one elbow on the throne's armrest and glared at Napoleon.

"So, you finally arrive at the head of the Tristain Army. Do you have something to say?"

"You know why I am here, Prince Wales." Napoleon responded. "I have marched to rescue you and place you on your rightful seat so that this war may be over."

Wales raised his arms.

"It's done. The same people who had imprisoned me for the last week now dress me up, prop me up on the throne, and call me their king. They're now currently hiding in some room in the castle, though I haven't decided what I should do with them. Perhaps I'll execute them or maybe I will just let them live their lives in exile. Maybe I won't punish them at all.

But tell me, Napoleon. You and Tristain fought to place me on this throne. But what would you say if I stated that I don't want this throne anymore and that the Reconquista should have kept it?"

"What?" Martin breathed. "We fought for you, Wales! We've died for you! Her Majesty died for you! And now you want to throw it all away just because Her Majesty, the one you loved, is dead?"

Wales turned to stare at Martin.

"Your captain asked me once why I wanted the throne. I didn't give an answer. I thought that since the crown belonged to me, I should just take it. That's what I said.

But I now know I had a reason the whole time. It was to protect her, to keep the woman I loved safe from all dangers. We swore to marry each other after the war was over. Albion doesn't care for me. The people stood by and watched as the Reconquista defeated me. But she did. She cared for me and I cared for her. You soldiers may mourn her death, but I saw her die in front of my eyes. A mage even as powerful as she was can only cast spells so fast, and she was surrounded and killed by my own countrymen. I've wondered whether she even noticed the soldier who stood behind her with a sword as she fought.

So why should I serve? The men who fought for me? They're dead. I sacrificed them to escape a long time ago. The men who fought against me and hate me? They killed Henrietta, yet they live. So why should I want to help them?"

"Because it's what she would have done, Wales. And you know that."

Napoleon crossed his arms in front of him as he said those words.

"You can't expect to remain a king without sacrificing things, Wales. You are not the first monarch to sacrifice the one he loves. You won't be the last."

His brain couldn't help it. For an instant, the image of a woman who had possessed grace and elegance without peer flashed through his mind. But he dismissed it. That was from another time, another world which no longer belonged to him.

"But the Reconquista is gone. So is Albion. There is no one left who can rule your country. Remember the honor and duty which made her love you."

Wales said nothing in response. He stared at Napoleon as the seconds ticked away. But then, his eyes began to water and for the first time since her death, he completely broke down.

"Henrietta…Henrietta…"

As he continued to cry, Napoleon left him alone. He turned to his guards and lowered his voice.

"Get the rest of the guard," he muttered to them. "Bring them in the castle. They are to capture and imprison anyone they see, regardless of rank. If they resist, kill them."

Guiche couldn't help but stiffen at those words.

"Everyone?"

"They were working for this castle while Cromwell was in charge," Napoleon stated. "They can't be trusted."

Guiche's face showed his hesitation, but Martin and Foucard nodded and saluted. They were professional soldiers. They were used to obeying orders, even if they didn't necessarily make sense. And these did.

"Come on, lad." Foucard stated to Guiche. "We've got one more battle to fight."

The three of them began to walk out, leaving Napoleon alone with Wales. The Prince had continued to sob and had ignored Napoleon. But now the Emperor walked forward to within ten feet of him.

"As much as you've suffered, Wales, Henrietta wasn't wrong. She was devoted to her people to the end and never considered abandoning them."

Wales looked down at those words as Napoleon continued.

"She never did. That is why a monarch should serve. That is why I served. And that is why you should serve. And if you can't trust your people, I can help you."

The prince slumped back in his chair, defeated. The energy which he had used to mourn the loss of his beloved and curse his throne drained away from him.

"Sure. I'll follow Henrietta's ideal." He stated in a flat voice. "What would you recommend then, Napoleon?"

Where before Wales had initially glared at Napoleon, now he gazed vacantly out into the hall. So he did not see the small smile which appeared on his face.

"Well, your people will suffer from the aftermath of this war. You could sell off of some of your fine jewels and equipment to show them that you will also suffer and to help pay off the debts. I can help you with that right now. In the meantime…"

As Napoleon began to give recommendations, the ring on Wales's hand, the Water Ruby, gleamed a little brighter.

…

Several hours later, Napoleon left the palace alone. He carried a small box under the crook of his left arm. He had ordered the Tristanian army to encamp just to the east of Londinium. However, he now headed west.

He didn't want to do this, but he had no choice. Napoleon wasn't an idiot. Touraine had told him that the Water Ruby and the Founder's Music Box were ancient relics of the Albion royal family, but he had not known anything else. Yet King Joseph's actions made no sense unless they were items of significant magical power. Even a simpleton could have realized that Gallia had been placed in a dominant position at the end of the war and would have tried to extract as many concessions as he could have. Instead, Joseph had made it clear that he wanted nothing more.

There was something odd about that king, Napoleon thought. Wales and Henrietta were also monarchs, but they had been motivated by a sincere desire to protect their countries. Even the rulers back in his world possessed the same motivations. But Napoleon couldn't say that about Joseph. Even if these artifacts were truly more valuable than extracting territory and concessions from Albion, nothing stopped him from obtaining both. The King possessed a different motivation, a different goal, and Napoleon couldn't figure it out. Those differences made Napoleon understand that Joseph was likely one of the most difficult and enigmatic enemies he could ever encounter, whether in this world or his old world.

Nevertheless, Joseph offered Napoleon something he desperately needed. The King had stolen Napoleon's hopes of a grand victory which could make him a hero to the Tristanian people in front of his eyes. Now, he offered to give it back to him in exchange for those artifacts. And since Napoleon had gambled Henrietta's protection in order to obtain that victory, he had no choice but to make the deal for now.

He stopped in front of an inn. The outside was clean and polished, but a sign at the door stated that it was closed for renovations. Nevertheless, Napoleon walked up to the door and knocked on it exactly six times.

After a moment, a small chute at the bottom opened up. It was large enough for Napoleon to slide the box through. He did so, and then a bit later, the same box returned. Napoleon picked it up and opened it. A sheaf of papers had been placed inside instead of the jewel and the music box, and Napoleon opened the first paper up.

_Captain Bonaparte. If you are reading this, then you have chosen to agree to our deal. I, King Joseph Gaul, would like to offer my sincerest thanks._

_I have given you a bunch of official documents which have indicated that I was persuaded by you to fight for your cause. You will find these useful when you return to Tristain. May you have luck in your future endeavors, whatever they may be_.

Napoleon closed the letter and shifted the box back under his arm. Then he began to walk all the way back to the camp. It took him a long time, but he finally reached the camp. A small wooden palisade had been erected to prevent any saboteurs or infiltrators. A few sentries patrolled around the wall and they saluted him as he reached the gate. One of them cleared his throat.

"Captain Napoleon, there's a visitor who wishes to speak with you immediately. She is waiting for you in your tent."

_Another_ _one_, Napoleon thought. As the head of the conquering army, he had spent far too much time being visited by some Albion dignitary after another. They generally groveled before him like the dogs that they were as they all tried to curry his favor. But this sort of thing was nothing new to Napoleon, as much as he disliked it. So he had listened to all of them politely and sought ways to make sure that they would do something for him or at minimum just respect him. Those sorts of feelings could pay off in the long run.

He still grumbled about the idea of meeting another one at this point, but he had little choice. He thanked the messenger and headed to his tent. He opened the flap and then looked at the person who sat there, and then widened his eyes in surprise.

"Louise! You've returned!"

He breathed out those words in delight as he finally met his partner for the first time in weeks. But as she sat on a chair in the tent, Louise said nothing. She still wore the fur coat and pants which Napoleon had prescribed for her. The Emperor closed the tent flap and walked directly in front of her.

"How is Cattleya? I've been worried about you this entire time. Did Karin give you any trouble while you were there?"

SMACK

She moved fast. Far faster than Napoleon had ever seen her move. In a blur, she slapped Napoleon across the cheek. And even he could say that that had legitimately hurt. Yet while his mind dazedly noted his pain and shock, he watched her face. Louise was clearly furious in a way that he had never seen her before.

SMACK

And then she did it again, only on the opposite cheek.

"Why…"

Napoleon shook his head in surprise and looked down on his partner. But he let Louise finish as he waited for the explosion which he knew would come.

"Why didn't you protect her, Napoleon? Why?"

There was no response. Louise's expression and voice softened as she trembled. But Napoleon inwardly cursed himself. How could he have not seen this coming?

"It is a long story of misfortune, Louise. I am sorry."

"Sorry? You're sorry?" Louise whispered. "She's dead. The Queen is dead. My _friend_ is dead. You should have protected her. You could have protected her. Why? What happened, Napoleon?"

Napoleon said nothing as he bowed his head a little.

"You told me she would be safe without me. You told me that. And now she's gone. How did she die, Napoleon? Please say it was without pain at least, will you?"

He just needed to let her vent. He knew that. But then he jolted a little. Louise had left the chair and had wrapped her arms around him. And then the tears started to flow.

"And do you have any idea how worried I've been about you? Y-you're my partner, Napoleon! What am I going to do if you die? You're going to p-pay for making a young maiden worry, you know?"

She began to cry just like Wales had. As she did so, Napoleon put a hand on her head, though he continued to say nothing. He just stood there and let her curse him out and cry for his safety. But Napoleon could tell. This was the first time since Henrietta's death that his partner had actually cried in front of anyone else.

"Tell me, Napoleon. Just… tell me what happened. Please."

"I understand."

He gently moved her arms and disengaged himself from Louise who once again sat down on the chair. And with a soft, sad expression on his face, Napoleon began to tell a story.

"She went to a church in Saxe-Gotha to pray to Brimir on the eight night of the Silver Pentecostal. I chose to stay behind and work as we prepared to fight at the end of the Silver Pentecostal. But I had forgotten to set up sentries around the city and they launched a surprise attack against us that night.

She sacrificed herself, you know? She sacrificed herself to get De Poitiers out of the city. The two of us worked together, tried to devise a way to save her. But it was impossible. Too many of our men were taken over by the spell and the situation was too chaotic. We couldn't organize the men willing to launch an offensive as they panicked.

We had to retreat. We had to abandon her and hope to rescue her later. De Poitiers committed suicide when he realized that, out of his shame at failing Her Majesty. So I had to fight to save her and save the army. And I managed to succeed and get Gallia's help to obtain victory."

He moved forward, and this time he was the one who hugged her.

"I'm sorry, Louise. I really am. But please, know that she's up there, looking down on us. And I'm sure that she's happy."

Louise continued to sob as the two stayed like that for some time without saying a word. Slowly, she disengaged herself from him. But Napoleon looked down on her.

"But actually, I'm glad that you're here now, Louise. It's good to have you back. And there's something I want to show you. Could you come with me?"

…

The two of them walked across the camp and stopped in front of another tent. Six guards, fully armed with swords, stood at attention as they surrounded the tent.'

"The prisoner is secure?"

"Yes, sir. We have patrolled the tent constantly and check on her every seven minutes to make sure she is there."

"Her?" Louise noted. "Napoleon, who is it?"

The Emperor said nothing in response. He simply ducked in the flap as Louise followed her. A single person sat inside, her hands tied behind her. She looked up and smiled as Napoleon entered.

"You couldn't bother to free my hands now, would you?"

"No." Napoleon stated. "You're a thief, Fouquet. I have no way of knowing whether you have a wand concealed with you. The alternative would have been to strip you and search your clothes, and I would rather not do that."

"Well, hello little Louise." Fouquet interjected. "I'd guess your familiar's a bit of a prude, isn't he?"

Louise blushed as red as a tomato.

"W-what are you talking about? A-anyways, Miss Longueville, what are you doing here?"

"You still call me that?" Fouquet observed. "How cute. But I think I forfeited that title the minute I stole the Staff of Destruction anyways. I'm sure you remember that night?"

Louise reddened even more, though now in anger.

"No. I wasn't there. But I won't forget what you did when I returned. Montmorency had completely lost it when I saw her, out of concern for Guiche. You're a monster for doing what you did!"

"Is that so? And what about you, Napoleon? You've imprisoned me under heavy guard this entire time. What do you intend to do with me in the end?"

"That is up to her."

Napoleon looked away from Fouquet and towards his partner.

"You have your wand, do you not?"

Louise nodded and pulled it out. Napoleon's eyes shifted to Fouquet in response.

"Louise, I will let you decide what to do with Fouquet. You can execute her yourself if you wish. You can ask me to do it, or order my soldiers to do it. You can imprison her or even let her go free. Anything you want."

"What? You're letting me decide?"

"She attacked your friends and your school." Napoleon responded. "Thus, I am letting you decide what to do with her first."

Louise stammered at that response, but then Fouquet cackled.

"Hahahahaha! Yes, that is an interesting response. So what will you do, Louise? An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. I remember reading that somewhere. And I know I killed at least one person, possibly more on that night."

"D-do you _want_ me to kill you?"

Fouquet shrugged her shoulder as well as she could.

"Maybe. I don't have much of a future to look forward to if you let me go anyways."

"What do you mean by that?" Louise asked.

"I don't know." Fouquet teased. "Perhaps I'm just lying to gain your pity. So? What do you intend to do, Louise?"

She couldn't help but feel overwhelmed for a moment, and so Louise glanced at Napoleon. But this time, he didn't turn his eyes to her. He stared directly in front of him and ignored both Fouquet and Louise with an impassive expression. But Louise could tell. She didn't know how she knew but she could tell. This was a test. Louise had to do something in order to gain his approval, but she couldn't tell what.

She pointed her wand at Fouquet. It would be so easy. She had killed so many people already in Tarbes and at La Rochelle. What was one more person? But this was different. Killing someone face to face was far, far different than before.

This was just too difficult. Maybe she should just ask Napoleon?

But Napoleon did nothing. He watched Louise out of the corner of his eye. She raised her wand at Fouquet, and then lowered it. She did this several more times. Then she glanced at Napoleon for a moment, and then back at Fouquet. She stared at the master thief for a few moments. With a leer of her own, Fouquet stared back.

Then finally, Louise dropped her wand. Without a word, she walked up to Fouquet, who abruptly began to laugh.

"What's this?" She laughed. "Are you actually going to let me go? After all I did?"

"Not exactly."

Louise knelt down to Fouquet's height.

"I will let you go, Fouquet. But only on one condition."

Fouquet cackled again.

"Oh really? What is it? Do you want me to swear some sacred oath in Brimir's name never to steal again?"

"No." Louise said. "You will be my servant."

For the first time, Fouquet stopped laughing in response. Her mouth dropped slightly, as she looked at Louise, then back to Napoleon, and then once more to Louise. She could tell that the pink-haired girl was not joking.

"You already have a familiar. What need do you have for a servant?"

Louise shook her head.

"He's not my servant. He's my partner. But Napoleon doesn't always listen to me. You, on the other hand, will. If I ask you to do something, you will do it. No matter what it is."

"That's quite a tall order." Fouquet said. "And just in return for my life? I don't think that's a fair deal."

"What about someone else's life? Like the elven girl whose home you had slept in when my men captured you?"

Napoleon had interjected those words. Fouquet blanched. And then her face darkened as her voice turned into a growl against Napoleon.

"Are you threatening her, you bastard?"

Napoleon shook his head.

"Far from it. But I know two things. First, that there's some bond between you and that orphanage, and it is likely some bond between you and the elven girl. Otherwise, you would have put up a fight when my men accosted you there. Secondly, I can also guarantee that that orphanage will be in grave danger now that the war is over."

"What are you talking about?"

"The Albion army is a wreck. It is disorganized and scattered, full of men who will steal in order to survive. And an orphanage, separate from the nearby village and guarded by a pretty elven girl, will be a fat juicy target.

So I'm offering their protection as well as your own life."

"B-but what can you do?" cried Fouquet. They live in a village by Saxe-Gotha, a three day's march from there. You can't order your men to protect her in time again."

"I already did."

"Huh?"

Both Louise and Fouquet blinked in confusion.

"I foresaw the danger the minute I learned about the orphanage, so I already made my move. The elf Tiffania and the orphans under her custody are in this camp as we speak. I'll escort her to Tristain and ensure that the children can join another Tristanian orphanage. In exchange, you'll become Louise's servant until she declares otherwise."

He finished his statement, but Louise couldn't help but smile at those words. If Napoleon had made all of those preparations, then it was obvious that this was the choice that he would have hoped she'd make. She had passed, and so with a grin she looked again at Fouquet.

"So, do you accept, Fouquet?"

The thief looked at them both and then bowed her head.

"I accept. But I want to see them first and make sure they're safe. Then I'll swear under your service, Louise."

Napoleon nodded. He pulled out a knife, strode to Fouquet, and cut the ropes. The thief rubbed her wrists for a moment. She then solemnly bowed before Louise and left the tent. After Louise watched her leave, she looked at Napoleon.

"I did what you wanted me to do. But what would have been the worst choice?"

"You couldn't figure that out?" Napoleon responded. "If you had let her go, imprisoned her, or killed her yourself, I would have been disappointed, but I would have said nothing. But if you had ordered me to kill her, I would have killed you instead."

"What?" Louise gasped. But she could tell by his tone. He was telling the truth.

"Ordering me to kill her would have indicated that you had learned nothing after I chose to accept the contract back at the Academy so long ago." Napoleon responded. "It would have shown that you still believed that you could boss me around, and it also would have meant that you weren't capable of accepting the fact that your hands could spill blood even after this war. To delegate such responsibilities would have made me decide that you weren't worthy of being my partner.

But you made the right choice, Louise. And I'm genuinely proud of you. Now, let's get ready to head home."

He patted her on the head and then left the tent. Louise watched him go. Really, she thought, she didn't know what she was supposed to say.

…

Cardinal Mazarin groaned as he made his way through the Tristanian palace.

He didn't want to do this. He really didn't. But there was no choice. The Queen of Tristain, Henrietta's mother, would know sooner or later. And she had to know that with the death of her daughter, she would now be the one on the throne.

All the same, Mazarin prayed to Brimir for forgiveness. It wasn't fair towards the Queen. She had never been fit to play the part of a ruler. Even when she was healthy, she lacked the fortitude and vigor which both Henrietta and her husband had shown. She had been content to play the role of a mother to her only child. Through her devotion to the ideal of the perfect wife, Henrietta's mother had been an example to mothers throughout Tristania. She truly was very different from her daughter, and was in a sense the polar opposite of the Valliere Duchess.

But that devotion towards being an ideal wife and mother had meant that she had completely collapsed out of grief upon her husband's death. The Queen should have been placed in charge of the country at that moment, but her grief caused her to become gravely ill and unable to run Tristain. Consequently, Henrietta had been placed upon the throne. But now with her daughter's death, the Queen had no choice but to become the next ruler of Tristain.

But what would happen when the Queen died? Mazarin honestly didn't know. The House of Tristain could trace its lineage back thousands upon thousands of years, to the age of Brimir. It had continually survived without a break even under the stupidest monarchs. But now here it was, in grave danger of extinction. When that happened, Mazarin knew, it would be up to him to make sure that the transition went smoothly.

Mazarin finally arrived at the Queen's bedchamber. He tried to open the door, but even though the knob turned, the door did not open. That was strange. He almost never visited Her Majesty's private quarters out of respect to her privacy. But he thought he had ordered that her room should not have a lock. If her illness became suddenly worse, than the courtiers needed to be able to dash into her room to help her in case of an emergency.

"Who is it?"

It was difficult for Mazarin to hear the warm, melodious voice which came through the door. She must be in her bed, he thought. It was located in the far side of the room.

"Your Majesty. May I please enter your room? I have sad news to deliver."

"It's about my daughter, isn't it?"

Mazarin paused at those words. He knew what he should say, but it remained difficult. So he followed up with his own question.

"How did you know?"

"I can hear the cries of grief coming from the people." The Queen stated. "Our army must be defeated and my daughter is dead. Am I right?"

"Only partially. Albion is defeated, and our country is safe. But Princess Henrietta…"

He didn't say anything more. He didn't need to. But he knew he had to continue.

"Our army will return from Albion soon. But our country still needs a ruler."

"And so you came here to tell me that I must once again take up the throne."

"Yes."

"Even though I fell ill out of grief for my husband and proved unable to do it?"

Mazarin hesitated.

"And even though I shall now have to mourn my own daughter's death?"

The Queen abruptly began to cough as she finished her statement. It was a rough, hacking cough, and Mazarin couldn't help but worry about everything she said.

"Your Majesty. Will you please unlock this door? We must discuss what to do with the monarchy. I promise on my honor as a Cardinal that I will not do or think anything untoward about you."

"I am tired, Mazarin."

"I see." The Cardinal said. "I can come back later. When do you think you will feel better?"

"You misunderstand. I am not physically tired. I am tired of politics and playing for a throne I've never wanted. Someone else can run this country, Mazarin. Perhaps the Vallieres can."

Mazarin shook his head.

"Your lineage runs back thousands of years to the days of Brimir, Your Highness. The Vallieres are powerful, but there are many families who are suspicious of them precisely because of their power. You are the only one who can lead this country."

"I couldn't lead this country last time. What makes you think I can do it this time?"

"Because of your lineage and what you represent. Please, Your Majesty. At least let me talk to you without this door barring the way."

Mazarin said nothing more, and the pair once again lapsed into silence. But just when he began to worry, the Queen spoke up.

"I will come down."

"Thank you." Mazarin stated. "But Your Highness, would you please unlock this door?"

"What lock?"

"Huh?"

Mazarin blinked at her question. But there was something in the Queen's voice when she had said those words. Something odd, a tone which he had never heard her use before in so many years of service.

"You ordered that my room should not have a lock out of concern for my health. That is the sick person you want running this country, Mazarin."

She was smiling, Mazarin realized. He could tell that from her voice. But he still didn't know what Her Highness was referring to. He tried to open the door once again and-

"What?"

The door pushed open a little more and Mazarin could see what was wrong. There was no lock. Instead, a dresser had been shoved in front of the door, preventing Mazarin from pushing it in.

"What is the meaning of this, Your Majesty?"

"I felt like having my own privacy."

"But," said Mazarin. "This is quite heavy. Please, Your Majesty, I wish to talk to you. Could you please move this back?"

"There is no need. I told you, Mazarin. I will come down."

Mazarin at this point struggled to keep his emotions in check.

"What are you talking about, Your Majesty? You will need to move this dresser. It is the only way to…come…down…"

His voice trailed as the realization hit him like a sack of bricks. That door wasn't the only way down. When he had renovated Her Majesty's room, he had decided to give her a balcony so she would able to go outside and get some fresh air. If by go down she meant…

"YOUR MAJESTY! NO! DON'T DO IT!"

Mazarin completely lost all restraint. He pulled the door back and then slammed it back into the dresser. There was no hesitation. The power of desperation coursed through his veins as he repeatedly moved the door back and forth between its resting place and the object blocking its path. He could hear nothing on the other side, but now he could do nothing but pray to Brimir. Perhaps Her Majesty had changed her mind and understood her importance. Perhaps she was just waiting for him, and this was just a giant trick. The fact that there was no sound meant that she hadn't done… _that_ yet. And he couldn't spell it out aloud. If he thought about it, the bigger chance she would do it!

At last, after repeated clashes with the door, the dresser leaned back and toppled with a crash. Mazarin pulled the door back and then slammed the door open with all of his might. But as he charged in, he tripped over the legs of the dresser and fell on his knees. And then he looked up.

The Queen of Tristain gazed upon Mazarin with a beautiful face that would fit on an angel. When Mazarin had seen her in the past, she had been sickly and with a lack of vigor. Even just now, she had entered a terrible hacking cough. As she leaned her back against the balcony, she appeared twenty years younger. But rather than awe or respect, horror remained the only emotion which made its way on Mazarin's face. It did not change as the Queen gave Mazarin a dazzling smile, leaned backwards a little bit more…

and

finally

came

down.

…

It had been three days since the parade in Londinium. The soldiers had camped outside the city and had relaxed at long last. Merchants and various individuals came out, visited with the victorious army, and plied their wares. Many continued to mourn the loss of their beloved princess and prayed incessantly, but many also just ate, slept, bought stuff, and gambled.

And around a huge tree stump, Guiche grumbled as Owen Foucard raked in a large number of gold coins.

"Gya hahaha, boy! That was pretty bold! Trying to gamble with an eight and a six!"

The mercenary slapped his knee in delight. Across the stump, Cartier Martin grumbled as he watched them play. But unlike Guiche, Foucard, or the last person who also sat by the stump, the wind mage wasn't wearing his shirt. It lay next to Foucard, who watched as Martin dealt the next hand.

"Man, Williams, this is a great game. Where did you learn it from?"

The other man nodded in thanks.

"My father was a merchant. This is a game that is very popular in Germania. They call it Hold Them, though I have no idea why."

The four players each received two cards. They glanced at it as they made bets out of the wages they had earned over the war.

"So what, you were a merchant? Why'd you come and fight here then?"

Williams shrugged as he folded.

"I'm not as clever as my father. I do my job well enough, but I wanted a chance to fight for Tristain and get some glory. I guess that's not happening now that the war's over."

"What are you talking about?" said Martin as he pushed forward a single coin. "The war isn't over."

"Huh?"

Guiche and Williams said the same thing out of confusion. Only Foucard appeared unsurprised.

"What are you talking about?" cried Guiche. "The war is over. We've taken Londinium."

"You sure you're a noble?" Martin responded. "You have a lot to understand about war then if you're going to be one."

Guiche glowered back at Martin. The latter responded by lifting a single finger.

"The battles are over, Guiche. But the war isn't. Now Albion and Tristain have to negotiate over Albion's fate and the monarchy and all that stuff."

"But that's not a big deal," Guiche responded. "That's what we're waiting on, right? Captain Napoleon's talking with the Prince of Wales about ending the war. That's what we've been waiting for, right?"

"Raise."

Foucard interjected those words as he poured some more coins on the table. Martin looked back at his hand and then nodded, before he turned back to Guiche.

"That's the problem. Prince Wales is the leader of Albion. Captain Napoleon's not the leader of Tristain. He can negotiate with Wales all he likes, but he has to go back to Tristan before a formal peace treaty with Albion can be arranged. We can't arrange peace with Albion until we know who's running the country."

"So who is running the country?" Guiche asked.

Martin shrugged.

"I dunno. We'll know when we get back. You going to fold or not, Guiche?"

Guiche thought about it some more, and then discarded his cards. Only Foucard and Martin were left, and the latter only had one coin and was missing his shirt.

"You know, Martin," Foucard cackled. "You're not handsome enough to impress the ladies if you walk around the camp wearing absolutely nothing."

"You're one to talk. Besides, I've saved up a few silver coins and I'm not betting those. I intend to get some high-class wine tonight after this game."

"Do you intend to march while drunk?"

It was another voice which spoke from behind Foucard. The four of them turned to see Robert de Gramont standing there, his hands behind his back. Upon seeing his brother, Guiche turned pale and determinedly stared at his cards.

"You know that gambling is against the rules, correct?"

"Aw, sir." Said Martin. "The war's over. Can't we just have a little fun?"

"I heard your entire speech about how the war isn't over."

Martin gaped, and then rubbed his head. Foucard clamped his lips in a transparent attempt to not laugh. But Robert's expression remained stern as he looked at the group.

"I'll let you off with a warning, because in three hours we'll begin marching back to the port of Rosais. We are going to head home to Tristain. However, I must insist that you gentlemen put the game away and form up in your ranks."

The four of them nodded as they began to put up the cards. Then Robert pointed at Martin.

"And get your shirt back on."

Those simple lines caused Foucard to lose control. He burst into a small fit of laughter though he quickly stifled it. Still, the four of them cleaned up after themselves and began to head back to the camp.

"Guiche, I'd like to speak with you."

The boy stopped abruptly and then like a robot wheeled to face his brother. But the deep glare by Robert made it clear that there was no room for compromise. Without even seeing goodbye, the other soldiers tramped back to camp, leaving him alone with Robert de Gramont.

Guiche swallowed as he looked up at Robert. Robert was the one he had always envied. Of course, Julian, the second brother was special and talented and so was Antoine, the third brother. But Robert had always been viewed as the proper heir, the perfect one. He never made a mistake whether it was in tactics or combat or magic. So Guiche listened to whatever his eldest brother would say.

"I don't understand how it happened, Guiche? How did you end up in the Guards?"

"What?"

Guiche furrowed his brows in response to that odd question.

"I had heard from father before you joined, and I confirmed it with him afterwards. You had been assigned as an officer to the De Vineuil Independent Battalion. It was an ordinary battalion, but you would have been an officer. But now you're just a grunt in some strange irregular unit. So what happened?"

"Is there something wrong with Captain Napoleon, brother?"

Robert hesitated, and then shook his head.

"He's brilliant. He talked with me regularly before that night at Saxe-Gotha. His index finger knows more about war than I do. And he knows Tristain's military history like the back of his hand. I wouldn't have consented to work directly under him if it hadn't been for that.

But this isn't about me, Guiche. It's about you. You could be in a much better place as an officer in some regular division."

It's not like Guiche hadn't asked himself that question, he thought to himself. He remembered that night before he had left the Academy. Montmorency had been so concerned for his safety like she had always been after what Fouquet had done. And he wouldn't deny that he still had nightmares about being trapped and suffocating. If she hadn't been so concerned and if he hadn't been late, who knows what would have happened?

But…

"You know, brother, Captain Napoleon told me about the De Vineuil Independent Battalion."

"And?"

"He said that it was just a small grouping of old men who were doing nothing more than repair efforts. Is he wrong?"

"No" Robert responded. "The De Vineuil Independent Battalion is an old yet proud battalion with great history. And even if it was, you would have had the chance of a higher rank."

"I wouldn't have earned it. Brother, I like the Guard. I like my comrades there. And I respect the man I work under enough to be reassigned where he wants me to be."

"But what would father say when he hears about this?"

Guiche shrugged.

"I hope he can understand. But I'm not interested in leaving, and I think Captain Napoleon wants me around. That's good enough for me."

Robert didn't say anything for a few moments. But then he gave a small smile and took a few steps forward.

"You're standing up to me, Guiche. I guess you have grown up some during this war."

He stopped in front of the younger brother and then flicked him on the forehead.

"Forgive me, Guiche. I'll accept your decision. Just make sure you can live up to it."

Robert then walked off. But before he truly left, he turned back towards Guiche and saluted. The younger brother's eyes shone at the gesture, then stood at a ramrod position and returned it as tears filled his eyes.


	33. The Emperor: Chapter 6

"_You want to know how I got these scars?"_

…

…

The Valliere family served as one of the most powerful families in Tristania. They were merely a hair removed from royalty themselves, and possessed major blood ties with the former Tristanian Royal family. But such power meant that the irritating effects of pomp and ceremony also appeared.

Consequently, the family had established a rigid protocol during mealtimes. Everyone ate at once. The Duke of Valliere ate at the front of the table. His wife Karin sat on the right side of the table close to her husband. The daughters sat further down at the same side, and Eleanor and Cattleya currently had their eyes closed as the prayers to Brimir were conducted. Dinner consisted of several courses, one after the other, and could last for over an hour on particularly extravagant days. And as the Duke and Duchess of Valliere had made preparations to leave for Tristania the next morning, tonight's meal would likely last for at least two hours.

Yet while the members of the Valliere family sat at their assigned positions, another person was with them. At the other end of the table from Karin and the Duke, Siesta sat as she watched everyone else begin the evening mealtime prayers. While she did not sit at the Valliere table on a consistent or regular basis, the Duke of Valliere frequently invited her to dine. Since he had taken the time to care for both Siesta and her brothers and sisters, she had no reason to refuse.

Yet while the rest of the Valliere family and the nearby servants continued to chant the prayer with their eyes closed, Siesta watched them without the slightest pretension of raising her hands together in respect for Brimir. Her cold black eyes moved around as she looked at every portion of the hall or its inhabitants.

"Amen."

The Valliere duke finished the prayer and opened his eyes. With those words, the servants whom had surrounded the table began to serve the first course. It was just the beginning of a luxurious meal. Quail eggs, fresh vegetables, pies and wonderful pastries were all laid out, and even Karin's eyes widened slightly at the feast which was spread out before them.

"My dear Jerome." The Duke of Valliere exclaimed. "Tonight's meal appears to be absolutely exquisite. Give my absolute compliments to the Chef!"

The ever-present butler, standing next to the Duke and Duchess, bowed in response.

"I shall be sure to inform him."

The Duke nodded. The family began to heap the food onto their plates and eat. For some time, nothing could be heard but the sound of crunching and slurping. Cattleya gave a satisfied sigh as she ate.

"This has so far been absolutely wonderful. But Father, Mother, I know you intend to leave tomorrow, but what is the occasion?"

"Well," her father responded. "Our victorious Tristanian army-"

"_His _army. And he didn't win anything."

The Duke looked over at his wife. Karin had been particularly tense from the start of this dinner, but he had believed that the initial pleasure of good food might have calmed her down. It appeared that it had failed.

"Very well, his army has returned from Albion a few days ago. They are currently marching to the capital along with the recovered body of Her Majesty. There will be a parade to commemorate our soldiers' safe return and then a funeral."

"So," asked Cattleya. "You will only be staying long enough for those affairs?"

Karin shook her head.

"Eugene will return after the funeral to manage the estate. But I will remain in Tristania. We will need to discuss and secure the succession to the throne."

Cattleya sighed and lowered her head.

"I wish I could go see Her Majesty one last time. But who is the next heir? Who will run the country with her death?"

"What?" asked Eleanor. "Don't you know that, Cattleya? It's perfectly obvious that the throne would pass to Father and Mother."

"Really?"

The Duke slowly nodded his head.

"The former King of Tristania, Henrietta's father, was my brother. It's a shame he died as young as he did. But it means that our family must be the one to rule Tristania. Karin will make sure that we take it."

Cattleya slowly paused as she pondered the enormity of that statement.

"And then we would be the heirs, right? Eleanor, and myself, and –"

Cattleya abruptly stopped. The word she wanted to say wouldn't come out of her throat. Instead, she redirected the question.

"Has there been any news about…her?"

The Duke of Valliere said nothing. But Karin fingered a wine goblet as she gazed into it.

"There has been no news. If Brimir is merciful, than Louise died an honorable death protecting Her Majesty."

She drained the goblet. Cattleya opened her mouth to say something, but then she jumped a little.

"Ow! Eleanor, why'd you kic-"

She stopped instantly as the elder sister gave Cattleya a death glare. Cattleya understood the message, and without a further word, returned to her meal. The first course was completed in silence. As the servants got to work removing the dirty dishes and replacing them with new dishes and other foods, the Duke looked down at the table towards Siesta.

"I know this isn't the first time you've eaten at our table, Siesta. There is no need to worry. Won't you please eat with us this time at least? Tonight's meal is particularly excellent."

A full glass of wine rested next to the former maid. But the servants made no effort to clear Siesta's plate. There was no reason to. So far, Siesta had eaten nothing.

"No thank you, Duke Valliere." She responded with a shake of her head. "I'm used to not eating much, after all."

The Duke blanched slightly at those words. His eyes lingered for a moment on the scar which ran down the left side of her face. But then with a shake of his head, he carved out a piece of roast chicken as he continued to talk.

"I-I see. I understand, of course. But how is your work coming along, Siesta? My wife here has said that you've been working quite a lot these days."

"Yes." Siesta responded. "I've been quite busy."

Her explanation of her duties stopped there. Siesta continued to gaze at the other Vallieres. And the family couldn't help but find it peculiar. The Vallieres were no strangers to being watched as they ate. Even now, Jerome and some of the servants stood at attention, waiting in case they were needed. But this girl, one whom they had decreed a guest, was doing the same thing, but it only served to create a strange sense of discomfort in the dining hall.

"Ahh, enough!"

It was Eleanor who broke the uncomfortable silence. She set her food down with a loud crash before she stared at Siesta.

"You're working to translate some archives, right? I teach at the Oriz Magical Academy. I've dealt with all sorts of ancient artifacts. So why don't I help you with your translation work? I've heard that it's quite a lot of work."

_There,_ Eleanor thought to herself. _That would work. This girl would doubtlessly be overjoyed to work with an academic researcher and a noble at that. Hopefully that can improve her mood_.

"Hihihi…"

Siesta gave an odd giggle at those words. It was small and insipid. One might have thought that the sound was only a light gust of wind. But the tone of it made it clear to Eleanor and all the Vallieres. Siesta might as well have been laughing like a madwoman and rolling on the floor.

Eleanor's eyes glared in anger at the maid.

"What are you laughing about, maid? I'm offering to work with you! Me, a magical researcher!"

"Very well."

Out of nowhere, Siesta pulled out a thick book. From Eleanor's perspective, there wasn't anything unusual about it. She could have found a similar book just by going to the Tristanian Library. But Siesta set the book down on the table.

"If you're so confident in your ability, Eleanor Valliere, then you should be able to tell me what the title is."

With a push, the book slid over across the table to Eleanor's seat. She caught it and picked it up. Once again, it didn't look that different from the textbooks she used at her teaching position. But then she flipped it over to where the title should have been.

"What is this?"

Two large lines of what appeared to be letters and a third smaller line underneath were inscribed on the book. And try as she might, Eleanor couldn't understand it. They were letters, but it was in a language she had never seen before.

"Well?" asked Siesta. "What is the title?"

"W-well, you can't expect me to figure it out instantly, Siesta. R-research takes time and skill and much work, after all."

"I don't." Siesta responded. "I can translate these works instantly. The title is _Elements of the Philosophy of Right_. The author's name is Georg Friedrich Hegel."

"W-well, how did you do that?" Eleanor snapped. "You've been working on this book for a while. That's why you can read it. But I am fully capable of working on these books as well, given enough time."

Siesta gave a small smile as she directly gazed at Eleanor's flustered face.

"I frankly don't know how I do it. But it's really not that important. I've established that you will slow me down, and I don't want or need your help."

"Are you sincerely refusing my help?"

"Eleanor, please."

Eleanor had stood up on hearing Siesta's remarks, but then she saw Cattleya hold her arm.

"Please, Eleanor. Our friend Siesta wants to do this important job by herself. Let her do what she likes."

Eleanor stopped and looked at her sister for a bit. Then she sighed and sat down. Siesta imperceptibly smiled, and then looked at Karin.

"Your daughters aside, I have a humble request for the Duke and Duchess of Valliere."

"Ho?" The Duke responded. "What is it?"

"It's about my brothers and sisters. I would like to request that they be allowed to move out of this castle live in the nearest village."

Cattleya's eyes widened in shock, and Eleanor dropped her jaw. Even Jerome opened one of his eyes. But after the stunned silence, the Duke raised a glass.

"Siesta, I understand that you worry about them constantly." He said. "But when I met you, I swore to keep your siblings under my protection. They've lived at this castle ever since, and Jerome has told me that they are energetic, lively children whom the servants like very much."

"I am grateful for that, Duke Valliere." Siesta said. "But I must worry about their long-term prospects. Even if they are under your protection, Duke Valliere, they are still commoners. They cannot enter the noble world especially since they do not possess magic. It would be best for them to grow up in the village with their peers."

The Duke furrowed his brows as he thought about what Siesta had said.

"What you have said is very wise. I understand your concerns, Siesta. But even your oldest brother, Pierre, is only 10 years old. How would you care for them?"

"That is the other part of my request." Siesta responded. "I must ask that I also be permitted to leave the castle and work in the nearby village."

"That is unacceptable."

Duchess Karin broke in. She raised her goblet and drained it before she glared at Siesta.

"I will not accept those conditions, Siesta. You have been tasked with maintaining and translating those strange books. How do you expect to do that if you do not live in this estate?"

"I had hoped that I would be able to take some out and work on them in my new home."

"What?" scoffed Karin. "Take the books out of the estate? Ridiculous! I may not be able to read most of them, Siesta, but I have looked at the ones you've translated, Siesta. That book on diseases, which explain how most of them are caused by bad air! The first one on agricultural techniques! These are stupendous volumes! I will not permit anyone to remove them from this estate for any reason."

"But…"

"There will be no buts!" Karin shouted. "And on top of that, how do you intend to work on your translations at a good pace while caring for your siblings? I've hired some extra maids in the castle expressly to help you care for them while you're here. But I won't permit them to work in the village."

"And-"

"No. That's all there is to it. Your request is denied, Siesta."

Defeated, Siesta looked down at the table, her eyes covered. But then the Duke cleared his throat.

"Perhaps I could suggest a compromise. Siesta, I will permit your siblings to live in the village."

"What?"

Two voices spoke those words in two different tones. Siesta looked back up at the Duke, while Karin whirled around at her husband with blazing eyes. Nevertheless, he continued.

"However, I cannot permit the books to leave the castle. This also means that I cannot permit you to live in the village. It will be up to you to find a way in which they can be cared for if they live there. But if you can accomplish such a task, then I will accept. Of course, since you regularly visit the village, I'm sure you would be able to see them frequently. What do you say?"

Her wife stared daggers at him, but the Duke doggedly gazed in Siesta's direction. The maid stared blankly back at him, with her dark eyes concealing any calculations which she made. But she finally nodded.

"I will accept those terms, Duke Valliere. Thank you very much. If you may permit it, I should like to be excused."

"What?" The Duke exclaimed. "But Siesta, it's only the second course! Please, stay and have some food!"

"I must once again thank you, Duke Valliere." Siesta responded. "But I have much to do. I request permission to depart and continue my duties."

The Duke hesitated for a moment as he looked at her, but he finally nodded. Siesta stood up from her chair and took a drink of wine, but the plate remained untouched. After a deep, elegant curtsy suitable for a proper maid, she left the room. As the door closed, Karin whirled on her husband with fury.

"What do you think you are doing, dear?"

"Whatever do you mean?" The Duke asked. "She had a request. A reasonable one, at that. So I granted it to her, with provisions."

"You _negotiated _with her." Karin spat. "The Rule of Steels means obedience to authority. Whatever Henrietta would have dictated, I would have done. And whatever the Vallieres dictate, she does. That is its nature."

"Well, I think it's a good request. The alternative would be to make Siesta's siblings servants. We may as well as give them the chance to decide their own fate."

Karin grumbled and leaned back in her chair.

"That's the other problem." She said. "I want those children within the castle. No matter what."

"Why does it matter?"

"Because I don't trust Siesta. At all."

The Duke chewed over those words as recognition slowly hit him. But as he opened his mouth, Cattleya stood up from her table.

"Mother, are you proposing that you would turn Siesta's brothers and sisters into hostages? That's terrible!"

"I'm seeking to protect my family!" Karin cried. "I'm letting her have the books because for now she's indispensable and no one else can do what she can. The Earl of Tardieu had already looked at those books and couldn't figure them out. "

"Tardieu?" Eleanor interrupted. "That fool? Mother, I know he's a friend of yours and loves his research, but he's not actually good with it. If you could only permit Siesta to let me-"

"My decision is final." Karin flatly stated. "There is to be no more discussion."

Eleanor opened her mouth, but this Cattleya silently kicked her under the table. The elder sister looked at Cattleya, and then with a sigh looked back towards her meal. The Duke however looked at his wife.

"So, what do you intend to do now with her?"

"I can't call her back and tell her that we've changed our minds." Karin observed. "You already promised her that, and the Vallieres keep our commitments, no matter how onerous they are. If Siesta can find someone in the village that can take care of her siblings, then they'll leave the castle.

But all that means is that we have to simply get to the nearest village first, and persuade them not to accept the children. Jerome?"

The butler stepped forward, awaiting his master's command.

"I expect you to be in my chambers tonight. I have a series of important letters that I need to dictate before my husband and I depart tomorrow. Make sure that all the writing materials are ready."

Jerome bowed in acknowledgment, and then left the room. Without another word, Karin leaned forward and cut out a piece of pie. The dinner continued in total and abject silence.

…

Napoleon paused to dip his pen once more in the inkwell. The conflict with Albion was over, but from his perspective, the real problems had just begun.

He was popular and well-respected by his men and many commoners. He knew that. In fact, he was not sleeping in his tent tonight. Marching at a leisurely pace, his army would arrive at the capital in two days. They had stopped by a small village last night, and the mayor had invited Napoleon to supper and stay the night at his home. He had even acquiesced when Napoleon had insisted that his lieutenants and Louise be invited as well. The mayor apparently received Giono's pamphlets on a regular basis and thus was aware of Napoleon. As a commoner himself, he had rather liked the idea that another commoner could become the commander of a whole army and negotiate with a king to save the country.

But the reality was that the influence of the nobles remained important. The negotiations with Joseph had served as a reminder. Magic was powerful. It was far more powerful than Napoleon had grasped when he had been first summoned. That alone was enough to ensure the power of the nobles. Without noble support, any attempt at power would fail regardless of the level of commoner support. And while he was liked and respected, he wasn't adored.

But there was a way. Henrietta's death, he knew, would open up opportunities. But it would also depend on some of his rivals making key mistakes. He knew it would happen. Destiny had decreed it so. He would succeed at his goals and obtain the power he deserved. It was an absolute certainty.

He finished writing a report of the day's events and leaned back in his chair. Then someone knocked on the door. That was odd, he thought. It was still dark outside. Who else would be up at this hour?

"Come in."

The door softly opened and Napoleon saw that it was Louise. Even at this early hour, she was fully dressed. She rubbed her eyes which had turned red from a lack of sleep.

"You've been having that nightmare again?"

Louise nodded, but she said nothing.

"I would say that it is becoming a problem. I remember hearing stories of some of my soldiers who had similar incidents, but I don't know what to do. You should probably see some healer when we reach the capital."

"It's just some nightmares, Napoleon." Louise said. "It's not that bad. Really."

"It's affecting your sleep. And getting enough rest is particularly important in a war."

He pointed at his own bed.

"Sit down over there, Louise. I'd like to talk with you anyways. We really haven't had a moment after all."

Louise yawned a bit, but she did what Napoleon asked. She leaned her back against the wall next to the bed, and Napoleon swung his chair towards her.

"I haven't asked anyways. How is Cattleya? Has she gotten better?"

That wasn't the real question, he inwardly thought. After all, he knew that the letter was a fake. But it was a better and more coaxing question compared to "Where have you been this entire time?"

Louise had yawned during the question, but she suddenly snapped to attention. Napoleon noted the focus that came onto her face.

"I didn't go see her."

"Huh?"

"Right before I reached the castle, I met a villager who had seen Cattleya and said she was fine. So I assume she's fine."

"Assume?" Napoleon asked. "But that's well, an assumption. If you were only a short distance away from the castle, you could have checked on her."

"That's the other thing." Louise said. "I don't think Jerome wrote that letter."

Napoleon gave a small shudder.

"Then who did?"

She held up three fingers.

"I know the following things. The person who sent this letter knew who Jerome was and that he is the Valliere butler. He knew that Cattleya suffered from an illness. And he had reason to keep me off the battlefield. Given those factors, I think it's fairly obvious who wrote that letter."

Even as he inwardly panicked, Napoleon maintained his composure.

"Then who was it?"

Louise looked at Napoleon with a surprised expression. Then her mouth slowly twitched upwards with a coy grin.

"Do you mean that I've figured something out before you, Napoleon? I'll have to commemorate this moment!"

"Oh, shut up." He huffed. "Just tell me already."

"It has to be one of my parents. Probably mother. But it doesn't matter which one. After all, we both know that she tried to imprison me and keep me out of the war. This was probably another attempt."

Napoleon leaned back in his chair and stroked his chin.

"But then why didn't Karin just send the letter herself?"

"Because Mother would know that you would likely read the letter as well." Louise instantly responded. "If Karin had sent the letter, you would have warned me about the risk of her trapping me and I would have thought about it too. But as it is, I just panicked about Cattleya and took off without a second thought. Fortunately, I managed to escape through Brimir's grace."

Napoleon sat back and thought a bit more. Then with a laugh, he reached forward and grabbed Louise's hair before she could react.

"I'm truly impressed, Louise. You've grown far more than I've expected you to."

He gave it a rough tousle and then sat back. Louise grumbled in the aftermath. As she fiddled with her shoulder-length hair, Napoleon looked at her.

"But if you weren't at the estate, then where have you been?"

"I headed to the Academy afterwards." Louise said. "I decided to stop back and talk to some friends."

"You stayed there for quite a while. Especially since to be frank, Louise, you didn't seem to have a huge amount of friends while you were there."

Louise slowly grinned at those words.

"That wasn't all I did."

She took out her wand and raised it aloft. Then she said a single word.

"Teleport."

And with that, she vanished from the bed. No, Napoleon realized. She hadn't vanished. She had instantly moved from the bed to the door without getting up, and by only using a spell, a short one at that. Nothing more.

"Was…that…Void magic?"

Louise laughed.

"You've been busy, Napoleon. You haven't had the time to train and teach me like before. So I decided after being tricked like I had been by my mother that I should try to make myself stronger. I went to Colbert with the Founder's Prayer Book. He had plenty of time since there are no classes these days because of the war, and he was able to help with my magic. Consequently, I learned this spell as well as another, and I can cast them without any problems. He even taught me to fight without a wand as well."

She held herself up with pride, and Napoleon smiled.

"So, Louise. I believe that you think you're pretty good, right?"

"I've gone a long way." Louise responded. "I know I need to improve. But I know now that I'm one of the best mages in Tristain. No, in Helgekinia. So I'm actually proud of myself."

"Well," said Napoleon. "I'm interested in seeing your combat ability. So how about a duel?"

"Against you?" Louise gasped.

"No. A magic duel. I think the best battle would be against the Marquis of Touraine. He is one of my lieutenants and a square-class Water mage. I'll go get him."

…

The sun was beginning to rise with its colors of pink and gold an hour later. Most of the soldiers still slept and would probably remain like that for another hour.

Yet in an open field near the camp, a few figures stood. Louise stood on one end of the field. And on the other side sat the Marquis of Touraine. He sleepily yawned as he gazed at Napoleon who stood at the center of the field. Robert de Gramont and Stewart also stood there.

"I know you asked me to duel her." Touraine moaned. "But all the same, this is far too early in the morning to fight another person."

"You can't duel and march at the same time." Napoleon responded. "And after a talk with Louise, I was interested in the two of you holding a magic duel."

"Louise Valliere?" Touraine stated as he looked at the girl. "Karin's youngest daughter? Be serious, Napoleon. I was friends with General De Poitiers, Brimir rest his soul. I know what that girl's capable of. I'm not fighting with a Void Mage."

Louise marched forward.

"I know that. So I'll play with a handicap. My signature spell is Explosion. I won't be allowed to use it in our duel."

An odd silence followed those words. Touraine subtly shifted his position. His back grew a little straighter and his fingers tightened.

"'Play with a handicap?' Is that what you just offered me, Louise?"

Louise nodded.

"Yes. After all, you don't want to face a Void Mage, right? So I want to make it fair."

"Forget it."

"Huh?"

Napoleon and Louise uttered the same word. But Touraine slowly stood up and brushed his gray hair back. He was no longer yawning.

"I may be older than you, Louise Francoise le Blanc de la Valliere and you may be a Void mage. But if I'm going to duel, I want a fair duel. Forget the handicap. I'll duel you straight on."

Louise stared in disbelief at those words. Napoleon did so for a second, but then he looked back at Gramont. The lieutenant solemnly stared out at the field. But somehow Napoleon could tell what Gramont wanted to say.

Even with Explosion, Louise would struggle to defeat Touraine in a duel.

"Very well." Napoleon said. "Louise can fight with Explosion. Louise, Touraine, please take your places."

The two advanced. They stood about two hundred feet apart from one another. Napoleon moved from both of them and raised one hand.

"I would like to remind both of you that this duel is not to be lethal. Subdue and incapacitate the other, but do not kill.

Louise Francoise le Blanc de la Valliere.

The Marquis of Touraine.

Let the duel begin!"

As Napoleon lowered his hand, Louise immediately raised her wand. But then she lowered it as she looked at the Marquis.

"Marquis of Touraine. I will use Explosion on you, but I would still prefer to have a handicap. Consequently, I shall give you one. I will let you cast the first spell."

The Marquis blinked for a moment. But as Napoleon walked over towards his other lieutenants, he heard Gramont groan in response.

"Are you sure about that?" The Marquis asked.

"Yes." Louise said. "I can give you that much. I swear by the honor of the Vallieres that I will uphold it."

It's not like it would matter, she thought. She had learned Teleport from Colbert, but she had also learned another spell called Dispel. It would cancel out any magic directed at her. It didn't matter whether Touraine cast the first spell or not. She would dispel it, and then that would give her an opening.

But behind Napoleon, Gramont openly groaned. Napoleon turned to him.

"What is it?"

"It's over." Gramont stated. "Against Touraine? That is a far, far worse handicap than simply refusing to use Explosion. I'm not sure even the legendary Heavy Wind could defeat Touraine with that handicap."

Utterly confused by that statement, Napoleon looked back at the dueling field. Touraine had his wand out but had made no effort to use it. Instead, before Louise's eyes, he knelt down on the ground.

And then he pulled out a knife on his leg and charged Louise. In less than two seconds, he had closed half of the distance between them.

"What?" Louise gasped. Was he insane? All she had to do was point his wand, use Explosion on him, and it would be over-

_Oh_. She realized. She now realized the dangers of the handicap she had promised. If Touraine refused to use magic and turned it into a flat melee, then she couldn't use magic either.

But all the same, he was running far too fast for a human. Therefore…

_It must be magic_, Louise thought. _He must be using magic to run that fast_. _So now I can use it_.

She pointed her wand at Touraine.

"Dispel!"

Nothing happened. Nothing happened at all. Louise felt the spell hit him, but then she saw that he was still charging at the same pace.

_What the-_

Touraine closed the remaining distance with the same agility that he had used for the first hundred feet. He stopped and swung the flat of his knife at her face, but Louise's instincts, honed by Colbert's and Napoleon's training, took over. She ducked the swing and rolled to her left. Once again, she pointed her wand.

_The spell must have failed. So I'll try again._

"Dispel!"

Again, nothing happened. Faster than she could react, Touraine leapt on top of her as she tried to crawl away and held her down. His expression had become dead serious as he lowered the knife on Louise. As she tried to keep a hold on her wand with her right hand, Louise's left arm struggled with Touraine's arm which held the knife.

"That... is…enough!"

With an outburst of energy, she managed to kick Touraine between his legs. He staggered back slightly at the blow, and Louise finally managed to point the wand directly at him. He was in front of her. There was no way she could miss if she used Explosion now!

"Explos-"

SHINK

Louise's spell stopped mid-incantation. It wasn't because she had been killed mid-sentence. She hadn't even been harmed. But when she saw what Touraine had done, she no longer could say anything in her shock. For out of Touraine's right arm, four metal spikes had shot out. They slammed into the grass as they all just barely missed Louise's neck. But that wasn't the horrifying thing. As Louise looked at the spikes, she saw that there was a metal string attached to the back of each one of the spikes. The strings went back to four holes in Touraine's arm from where the spikes erupted, and the strings remained attached to… something in his body. Something which Louise didn't want to know. And even now out of those holes, blood came drenching out.

"Do you yield?" Touraine asked.

Louise gulped. She couldn't believe this. She knew Touraine was a square mage. Square mages were the most powerful in the land and exceedingly rare. But for someone to do this… to himself!

"I ask again. Do you yield?"

Slowly, Louise nodded. Touraine adjusted his position slightly, though he didn't get off of Louise. He picked up all the metal spikes with his left hand and then gave a tug. With a sickening pop, the strings came out of his arm. Everyone could see that a series of small hooks were attached at the other end of the string. Without any further words, he finally clambered off of Louise, and then pointed his wand at the gaping wounds on his right arm.

"_Refero."_

With only a single word, the wounds quickly closed themselves up and healed.

Napoleon watched the whole scene with horror and not a small amount of fascination. But he couldn't keep the words from tumbling out of his mouth.

"Gramont, what in God's name was that?"

Gramont rubbed his head.

"I guess you only knew that he was a square-class Water mage, didn't you? Not that I can blame you. Touraine's… unusual."

"What do you mean?" Napoleon asked.

"Water magic in general isn't particularly skilled offensively." Gramont explained. "Its specialty is in healing. Touraine's an incredible healer, one of the best there's ever been in Tristanian history.

He took advantage of that specialty. He's not particularly skilled at offensive Water magic, and in fact he's never seriously tried to learn it. Instead, he modified his own body through experiments. He can perform feats of strength and speed which no human could ever equal, and that's not counting those contraptions like those spikes. He's got other things like that in his body.

Normally, that sort of body comes with a price. Touraine's body breaks down very quickly if he runs at such high speeds or tries anything superhuman. But because he's such a good healer, he can survive such a style of fighting while other mages would have died from the stress after one battle like that.

But it's not without its huge weaknesses. Touraine doesn't use any willpower at first, but the longer the he fights, he has to use increasingly more and more willpower to keep his body running at its peak. And to make thing worse, he's incredibly limited with ranged attacks. He's pretty much forced to close in on his opponents in close combat to win."

Napoleon nodded and understood. If Louise had fought Touraine without arrogance and handicaps, it was possible that Touraine could have been overwhelmed with explosions and lost without ever reaching Louise. But with her decision to not cast the first spell, she had sealed her defeat.

Still, he had to worry about Louise. He left Gramont and walked over to Louise. How would she react to being defeated in such a manner?

Touraine had gotten off of Louise and had walked away from his former opponent without a word. She had continued to sit there after her defeat, ruefully scratching her head as Napoleon walked up to her.

"I really screwed up, didn't I?" She observed. There was no tone of self-blame, no tears. For all one might have known, she might have tripped over a rock.

Napoleon nodded.

"You're really an idiot, you know that?"

"Says the guy who couldn't figure out where my mother's letter came from." Louise responded. "Anyways, could you please help me up? My legs seem to have stopped working from the shock."

"They better get working fast. We'll begin marching within an hour."

With a small laugh, Louise held out her hand. Napoleon took it and hoisted her up as the two walked back to the Tristanian encampment.

…

Colbert looked out of the window of the Tristanian Academy. He had been appointed headmaster because he was the only suitable successor after Osmond had been relieved from his post, but he didn't enjoy the job in the slightest. Teachers at this academy had a lot of free time outside of the classes that they taught, which meant that he had plenty of time to conduct his experiments. But now he was forced to deal with the politics and the bureaucracy that lay within this school, especially since classes were to resume with the Albion war drawing to a close.

He gazed wistfully at the device he had invented recently. Using a combination of fire magic and oil, he had managed to create a contraption which would be capable of letting objects move by themselves. But there were still so many little things to work out before it would properly work, and he had so little time these days.

Like this problem, he thought as he looked across his desk. In front of him stood a blue-haired girl with glasses, the best student in the Academy. She had walked in Colbert's office not five minutes ago and had handed him a sheet of paper. And if Colbert hadn't known Tabitha's personality, he would have believed that this was part of an elaborate prank.

"You're stating your intention to withdraw from the Tristain Academy of Magic?"

She nodded. Colbert took a long look at her, to make sure that her intentions were certain.

"You're one of the best students in this Academy, Tabitha. I'm perfectly capable of granting you a leave of absence until you return."

"I don't think I'll return."

"Huh?"

It wasn't just the meaning in those words. Tabitha had been at the academy for two years. And Colbert had never heard her say a sentence that long. The fact that she had spoken like that meant…

"So this is highly important to you? Enough to risk your life for?'

She nodded. That was closer to how Tabitha normally communicated, Colbert thought. But given her apparent determination, there was nothing he could do.

"Very well, Tabitha. You're dismissed from this Academy. But I will let you know. As long as I remain the headmaster of this Academy, you will be more than welcome to return at any time. And good luck with whatever it is you're doing."

Tabitha nodded and then left the office. As Colbert watched her leave, he muttered a few words that he knew she couldn't hear.

"And don't try to get yourself killed, okay?"

After Tabitha left Colbert's office, she made her way back to her dormitory. She opened the door and then stopped.

"And here's to a long and happy friendship!"

"And to Germania!"

"And to fine wine!"

Kirche sat on a chair, holding a cup filled with wine and the sword Derflinger had been propped up on another chair. A small table had been placed between the two, and another full wine glass rested in front of the sword as the two toasted each other even as the latter couldn't actually pick up the glass.

"Ah, Tabitha!" Kirche cried. "It's good to see you back! I guess you've finished the arrangements with Colbert then?"

The girl nodded once more and Kirche gave a coo of delight.

"Well, that's good. Come, sit down! I'll pour you a drink as well!"

Another empty chair sat by the table, and Kirche got up and forced Tabitha down upon it. She picked up another empty glass and poured Tabitha some wine. However, the redhair's arm slipped, and the wine quickly overfilled the glass and splashed on the table.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Tabitha! I can clean that up."

She pulled out another rag and vigorously wiped the spilled wine up.

"So, you'll be leaving the Academy? For good?"

"Yes."

"And you still won't tell me where you're going to go." Kirche huffed. "How mean, Tabitha! I thought we were friends! Friends don't keep secrets from one another, you know!"

She finished wiping the table up and idly tossed the rag before she also sat down.

"It must be a boy." Kirche mused. "Tabitha must have found a wonderful, wonderful boy! One who will protect her and look after her and make her happy! When you two marry, you must invite me to the ceremony! How about it, Derflinger? Am I right?"

"Well," the sword said. "It is about a man."

Kirche gave a girlish squeal of delight.

"Ooh, oooh! I was right! Tabitha dearest has found a man! Con-gra-tu-la-tions!"

The fiery Germanian leaped out of her chair and dashed to Tabitha with a warm embrace. She half-dragged Tabitha out of her seat while she jumped about.

"He must be a great man! With so many castles and servants and gardens! And he'll do all sorts of wonderful things and they'll have fun and Tabitha will be happy and everyone will as well and…and…"

Kirche slowly stopped leaping about with Tabitha in her arms, but she still continued to hold her friend. But she shifted her arms so that the hug became a little closer.

"And you'll be safe, right? Right, Tabitha?"

Tabitha said nothing to those words. Neither did Derflinger. But Kirche still didn't let her go.

"Hey, Tabitha. You'll be safe, right? Promise me that, or I'll hug you forever~"

She grasped Tabitha a little tighter. And Tabitha gave a small thought about the one friend she had. Oh, she was crazy, and flirtatious, and irresponsible. But she was still her friend. When that mysterious Gallian had arrived at the Academy, Kirche had been the only one who had walked up to her without reservations. The Germanian had stayed that year for the past year as she chatted and flirted to everyone she knew and left the job of listening to Tabitha.

So she gave a small nod. Kirche felt it rather than saw it, and so she let her go. The blue haired girl without a word walked over to the table and picked up Derflinger, and then a small satchel which held all of her belongings. She then made to the door.

"Wait!"

Tabitha stopped upon hearing Kirche's shout and turned to her. The redhead's eyes were watering.

"You're…going after _him_, aren't you?"

She didn't say the name. She didn't need to. Both Kirche and Tabitha knew who the former was referring to.

But Tabitha shook her head.

"Not exactly."

And with that, Tabitha walked out of the door and left the castle.

…

Tristania certainly looked different now that he was at the head of a victorious army, Napoleon thought.

Two days had passed since Louise's defeat. She had patched herself up in no time as well as Touraine, and the march had continued without much incident. The army had now encamped themselves outside of the city walls. They would remain there for the next three days, while preparations for the parade and the funeral would continue.

But now he had a delivery to make. He sat in a small covered wagon which rode towards the palace. Louise accompanied him and she had in turn brought along Fouquet. The master thief had sworn her utter loyalty to Louise to protect her no matter what, but Louise still had to worry about the fact that Fouquet remained a wanted fugitive. She had helped the thief undergo a slight makeover by cutting her hair, removing her glasses, and giving her a hood, but Napoleon knew that it wouldn't last if Fouquet came under extremely close scrutiny. After he headed to the palace and paid his respects, this carriage would drive straight to Giono's shop. Even though the sun was beginning to set, there wouldn't be a problem. The printer's connections with the art world meant that he could easily find some excellent tailors for Napoleon at a moment's notice.

But even including the driver, they weren't alone, as Napoleon's eyes shifted away from Fouquet and towards the object that they delivered.

_Well_, he thought as he looked upon the rosewood casket, _perhaps delivery is the wrong word_.

No one spoke throughout the entire bumpy ride. The whole process, even for Napoleon, was fairly macabre. Escorting the body of a dead sovereign was something even he had never done in so many years of war and battle. He still had plenty he wanted to talk about with the master thief. But for now, he said nothing.

Fortunately at around this time of the day, there were few people out on the street. The ride thus wasn't as long as he had expected it to be. They finally arrived at the palace and the guards let them through without incident. All of them recognized the man with the strange hat who rode inside the wagon. Some of them gave their polite thanks and congratulations to him.

The wagon stopped in front of the palace doors and Napoleon instructed the driver, a soldier from his army, to wait for some servants. He, Louise, and Fouquet all clambered out of the carriage and made their way inside, with the latter covering her face with the hood.

A group of men stood in the hall, but one could instantly tell that an elderly man at the center of the crowd was the leader. He paid no attention to Napoleon's entrance. Dressed in fine clothes which still gave off an air of religiosity, he jabbed a finger at one of the men.

"I want you to go over the route which the parade will take threefold! We do not need an incident like the earlier assassination attempt on Henrietta. Not now! Now, more than ever, this country must stand united. Get going!"

The men nodded and without a word took off and rushed past Napoleon to the entrance. One or two of them turned their heads upon seeing him, but Napoleon paid them no heed. It was the man standing in the center of the hall whom interested him.

"Cardinal Mazarin, I presume?"

The Cardinal gave a polite sign and walked towards Napoleon.

"Indeed. You must be Captain Napoleon Bonaparte. I received your letter, and I've heard plenty about you already. I am pleased to meet you."

Mazarin stopped before Napoleon and extended one of his hands with his fingers at the forefront to him. Napoleon blankly stared at Mazarin for a moment. Then without a word, he extended his own arm and shook Mazarin's hand.

"I am pleased to meet you as well."

Louise silently kicked his heel. Mazarin meanwhile looked at Napoleon with no small amount of surprise. Then his gaze shifted over to Napoleon's partner.

"Ah, you must be Louise of the Valliere family! It's been a pleasure to meet you. I see you have been quite busy these days. You were still just a young girl the last time I saw you!"

Louise said nothing in response. Instead, she promptly dropped to one knee before Mazarin. And as the Cardinal extended his fingers, she promptly took them into her hands and kissed them.

"I am sorry for my partner's mistake, Cardinal. Unfortunately, he does not believe in Brimir's creed, and so…"

"My, my." The Cardinal softly laughed. "There is no problem! It's nice to see a change in custom every now and then."

Louise sputtered at those words, but the Cardinal gave her a small pat on the head. He now turned towards Fouquet.

"It's a pleasure to meet you…"

"Duvall." Fouquet quietly said. "Miss Duvall. I serve as Miss Valliere's bodyguard and servant."

"A personal servant?" Mazarin asked. "But I must admit that you seem quite mysterious for a servant."

"She is from Albion." Napoleon smoothly cut in. "We found her and she decided to pledge her loyalty to Louise."

"I see." Mazarin said. He didn't ask for Fouquet to lower her hood, but he stared at her for several long, uncomfortable moments. But with a shrug of his shoulders, he looked back towards Napoleon.

"Anyways, like I said, Captain Bonaparte, I have already received your letter. I understand you have brought Her Majesty's body back to its native land?"

"I ordered the guards to fetch some servants to bring the casket in." Napoleon responded. "They should be coming-"

The doors opened as six servants walked in, carrying the coffin.

"-right about now."

Mazarin said nothing. He watched as the servants carried the casket and set it down in the center of the Main Hall. While all of their eyes lingered on it, with a wave of the Cardinal's hand, they quickly departed. He then slowly strode up to the casket and let his right hand rest upon the wood.

"Poor girl." He murmured. "She really was the best hope for this country."

No one else said anything, though Louise stared down at the ground. Mazarin continued to walk around it as his hand traced the lovely wood.

"We'll hold the parade in three days from now. And then we'll mourn. I can assume that all of you have heard about the news regarding Henrietta's mother by now?"

"Yes." Napoleon responded. "I have the impression that you've been running the country in the aftermath of their deaths."

"For now." Mazarin said. "It's hardly anything permanent. The nobles will convene shortly after the funeral in Tristania to figure things out. Many of them are on their way right now and will be here for the funeral.

I'll be attending the conference. But if you don't mind, Captain Bonaparte, I'd like to invite you as well."

Louise gasped at those words, and looked at Napoleon. He gaze a long, slow, stare at Mazarin before he opened his mouth.

"You're looking for allies, aren't you?"

"Not exactly." Mazarin shrugged. "I don't want to rule. I want to go back to my church and worry about the next world, not this one. But I think it would be a good idea to let the common people have a small voice on the issue. I'll be there, and I'll take into account what I think would be the best course of all of the people of Tristain and not just the nobility. But you would help, and I think the nobles would permit you to sit and not talk too much. Heaven knows if I tried to suggest someone like Barbaras, the nobles would be infuriated."

"Barbaras?" Louise asked.

"A banker. One of the wealthiest men in the town, though he's just a commoner. He hates the nobles and the nobles hate him because of money issues. Ah, it really is the root of all evil, isn't it?"

He sighed and then looked at Napoleon.

"So, Captain. Would you mind accepting my invitation?"

Napoleon shrugged.

"I won't mind. Don't count on me doing too much while I'm there, though."

"Of course not, of course not!" Mazarin laughed. "All the same, I'm sure you could play a vital role."

A bell began to ring from a nearby clock tower. It banged six times as Mazarin scratched his head.

"Goodness, is it that time already? I have plenty to do, and I'm sure that you're quite busy with that army, Napoleon. I will bid you good night."

This time around, Mazarin extended his palm and not his fingers toward Napoleon. But at that moment, the door to the palace opened. Louise looked over and gasped.

"Mother! Father!"

The Duke and Duchess of Valliere walked into the main hall. And despite everything that had occurred, Louise felt overjoyed to see them. Surely, they would be proud of everything she had accomplished!

"Mother! Father! It's good to see you! How are you-"

And then Louise drowned.

…

Napoleon looked over at his partner. She had stopped dead still. It's not like he could blame her. Even he was stunned by this killing aura which Karin had unleashed.

But as Louise collapsed on the ground and Karin lowered her hand to her wand, he knew he had to protect her, even as a bead of sweat dropped down his forehead. He knew that he couldn't defeat Karin in a fight. He didn't think that he could defeat Louise in a fight, and one only had to look at the hall to see the difference between the strengths of the mother and daughter.

It didn't matter. Louise was his partner, the one who had brought him to this world and had rescued him from the old world. She was loyal to him. This meant that he would be loyal to her.

So he drew his sword with his left hand and let the Gandalfr runes activate. At the same time, Fouquet moved forward and grabbed her own wand.

…

_It hurt_.

She thought she understood her mother. Louise honestly thought she did. She could be stern, or angry, but her mother cared. She always did. She just chose to do it in a strict way that honored the pride of Vallieres.

_But how could Louise understand her without knowing of this pain, this rage?_

She knew now. This was pain. This was her mother's true rage and fury. When she met someone who she _hated_. Hated with all of her blood and soul and want to rip and tear and shred and burn them to the ground and destroy their innards and pulverize their remains and-

_It hurts it hurts it hurts._

But she was her daughter. She was Karin's daughter. Sure, she may have been a failure and a disappointment in the past, but that was before! Even her mother knew the power which her daughter possessed. Void, the legendary power. And she should also knew her familiar, no her partner, and his incredible power and skill.

_So why was she mad? Why this hatred? A mother shouldn't do this to her daughter_.

No. She couldn't think. Thinking just invited more pain. More pain and knowledge.

And that was the true pain. It wasn't this tidal wave of anger and bloodlust which washed over Louise that created despair. It was the reason that this wave existed in the first place.

_She's trying to kill me. My own mother is trying to kill me with her hatred_.

And as she continued to agonize on the ground, she felt a boot step over her, and saw a familiar figure, wearing a strange hat and wielding a sword, bar the way.

Then her world turned black.

…

"Get out of the way, Bonaparte."

Her voice was as thick and cold as a glacier as she stood about two long strides in front of him. But Napoleon did nothing. He stared back at Karin with his sword outstretched, while Fouquet also pointed her wand at Louise's mother. The Duke, in the meantime, frantically gazed from his wife to Napoleon and then back again.

"I will not."

He had made his decision. His voice, as resolute as Karin's, signified it.

"I will not repeat myself. _Get out of my way and let me deal with my daughter, Captain Bonaparte_."

"_Make me_."

Karin flicked her wand. Napoleon felt a small blast of wind fly past his head. It stopped just as it reached the wall, but he still felt its power. It was potentially enough to grievously wound him, maybe decapitate him. In response, Fouquet opened her mouth.

"Arise-"

"THAT IS ENOUGH!"

Mazarin and the Duke shouted those words as they rushed between Karin and Napoleon. They both raised their hands up to block any attacks or spells.

"This is a difficult time." Mazarin stated. "We must have unity. Please. You cannot fight in here. Not while Her Majesty rests in this very hall."

Behind him, Napoleon could feel Louise begin to stir. But for now, he ignored her and completely focused on Karin and any potential move she might make. At last, Karin put away her wand, though the aura of hatred remained palpable.

Napoleon turned around and checked on his partner. She seemed fine for now. She was breathing, though her eyes were closed. Fouquet also went up to her and checked her pulse.

"Bonaparte."

He heard Karin speak behind him. Nevertheless, he made no effort to speak or look at her.

"I challenge you to a duel. Tomorrow, by the river."

He did not hesitate to give a response.

"I refuse."

Karin stopped in amazement.

"Are you telling me that you will not fight to defend your honor?"

"Karin," Napoleon said. "The day I ever consider what you think about my honor is the day that you actually…"

He finished his sentence. But as everyone realized what he had meant by those last words, Fouquet reddened, Mazarin gave a polite cough, and Karin's rage spiked again.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY ABOUT ME, YOU-"

"Dear! Please!" The Duke shouted. "Not here. Cardinal Mazarin, I had business I had hoped to discuss with you when I arrived. But, another time."

Karin glared back at her husband. Then with a huff, she walked towards the entrance and slammed the massive doors open as she left. As Mazarin watched them leave, he gave a long, slow whistle.

"I offer you a place at the table to decide Tristain's future and you promptly make yourself a powerful enemy."

"She made me an enemy, not the opposite." Napoleon responded. "I cannot let her kill Louise. And I've dealt with Karin before. She doesn't like me anyways."

"Very well then." Mazarin observed with a sigh. "So how is their daughter?"

Napoleon lightly slapped Louise's face a few times. She mumbled and made some noises, but still didn't open her eyes.

"She's likely just collapsed from the shock. She'll be fine, though it's going to be a problem when she wakes up and comes to realize the implication of that rage. There's nothing I can do for now, so I'll just take her."

Napoleon lifted Louise and draped her over her shoulders. Without a word, Fouquet followed him.

"And I forgot to thank you, Cardinal." He called out. "You helped to defuse a dangerous situation. If you like, I'll kiss your fingers whenever you like."

"There's no need to worry." Mazarin laughed. "Have a good night, Bonaparte. May Brimir's protection watch over all of you."

Napoleon gave a nod in acknowledgment as he walked out with Louise. They walked down to the cart and dropped Louise in, then clambered in afterwards.

The driver had fallen asleep while he waited. Napoleon reached his arm forward and tapped him on the shoulder.

"To the print shop of Andre Giono."

…

"You know, Napoleon, this wasn't exactly how I envisioned the conquering hero visiting my shop."

Giono quipped those words, but he took Louise from Napoleon's arms and laid her on the small bed in his room. Napoleon had urged the driver to get there as fast as he could. He asked Fouquet to stay inside the wagon until he called her in order to make sure as few people saw her as possible, and had then rushed in the shop with Louise.

"So what happened to her? Did she pass out from exhaustion?"

"Her mother, the Valliere Duchess, is infuriated with her." Napoleon said. "Mad enough that she tried to kill Louise."

"What?"

Giono looked up in shock as he continued.

"What reason would she have to do that? There may be a reason for a parent to be ashamed of their offspring, or even disown them. But to kill them? There's no reason good enough to commit such a sin."

Napoleon shrugged.

"Tell her that. I'm not sure why she's outraged with Louise."

"Ah well." Giono said. "To tell the truth, I think you came at a pretty good time. There's someone who I would like you to meet, and you've always had plenty of good ideas to improve my shop."

He finished tucking Louise in his bed. Then he made to stood up, but not before he looked at Louise again. He sat back in his nearby chair and rested an old hand on her cheek.

"It is interesting." Giono mused. "In the past, I lost my shop thanks to some corrupt nobles. After that had happened, I began to waste my time at the saloons as a drunken idiot, with no sense of purpose or will. But it worked out. You helped me out, Napoleon. And now with some help from me, you're one of the most important commoners in all of Tristain.

But even though we're both commoners, I don't hate nobles like I did back in the saloon. I ranted about destroying all of them in revenge for my shop, but now I know. I doubt I have more than two decades left, and I hope to see a world where the nobles can't just tramp over us anymore before I go. But they aren't all bad people. Your partner's a good example. She's the daughter of one of the oldest and most important nobles. But I can tell that she's a good person at heart. You should be happy to work with her."

"Yeah," Napoleon absently responded. "Louise is valuable."

"So you'll have to make sure to protect her, all right? If her mother's really determined to kill her, then she's going to have a hard time of it in the future. There's a good chance she'll be disowned. So Napoleon, you better make sure she remains in good shape, or this old man will be angry with you!"

Giono mockingly wagged a finger into Napoleon's face, and the latter gave a sharp chuckle.

"Well," Napoleon said. "Why don't you actually show me the person you wanted me to meet?"

The late hour meant that the workshop was deserted. Only a single individual, dressed almost completely in black, sat by the chair near the entrance. He looked up as Giono and Napoleon entered and gave a smile of delight.

"Ah! Giono! I believe that is the friend you have been talking about?"

"Of course." Giono said. "Barbaras, let me introduce you to Captain Napoleon Bonaparte. Bonaparte, this is John Barbaras. This blood-sucking leech is one of the wealthiest commoners in Tristain. In other words, he's a banker."

"I'm one of the wealthiest _men_ in Tristain, Giono, and don't you forget it." Barbaras laughed. "I'm greatly honored to meet you, Captain Bonaparte. You've become quite the famous figure these days."

"Thank you, Barbaras." Napoleon said as he shook hands with the moneylender. "I'm glad to see another commoner who's risen up in this world."

Barbaras laughed again and clapped Bonaparte on the shoulders.

"Gyahaha! I like this guy already! Hey, Giono! Why don't you show him what I picked up?"

"I was already going to do that." Giono called out as he walked to a nearby printer. "I'm sure Napoleon will be pleased to see this book."

"New book?" Napoleon asked.

"Oh, I should explain it." Barbaras said. "You see, I had recently been travelling across Tristain…"

As Barbaras told Napoleon the same story he had told Giono about how he had received the book, Giono rushed back carrying a stack of papers.

"Here you go, Captain Bonaparte! I hope you will like it!"

With a slightly confused expression, Bonaparte took the papers and began to read it. Giono in the meantime turned towards Barbaras.

"You know, I've been making copies, but I haven't actually thought about giving it a title. Did the boy give you a title for this book?"

"No." Barbaras said. "We should probably come up with a title for it on our own. I think the word "king" or "noble" should be in it somewhere as it talks about their corruption quite a bit."

"That's too obvious." Giono grumbled. "We should give this book a plain title, an ordinary title. Something which the nobles wouldn't be immediately outraged about if they glanced at it."

"I guess that's right. If the Vallieres got power or the Walloons, they would freak out if they saw this book. So yeah, a title that makes sense from the beginning. Something like…"

"Common Sense."

Giono and Barbaras stopped and then looked at Napoleon. His arms visibly trembled as he continued to read.

"The name of this book is _Common Sense_."

He lowered the pages, and Giono saw the horrified expression on Napoleon' face. Napoleon walked over to the table and set the pages down. Then he rushed up to Barbaras and grabbed his shoulders, staring directly into his eyes.

"Where did you get this?"

Barbaras tried to take a step back, but Napoleon's tight grip prevented him.

"W-what's going on, Captain? It's just a book."

"Where. Did. You. Get. This?"

"I told you, Captain." Barbaras sputtered. "A boy gave it to me. And does it really matter? It's just a book some kid gave to me, what's the matter?"

Napoleon then let go of Barbaras's shoulders. While Barbaras gingerly rubbed them, Napoleon walked over to the papers.

"Where did that boy give it to you?"

"About two weeks ago. It was at the border between the Valliere and the Walloon estates."

Napoleon stared at Barbaras in response, and the banker hastily averted his eyes. After a few further seconds, Napoleon raised his fist and slammed it with all of his strength on top of the papers.

"I'm telling the truth, Captain Bonaparte! A boy gave it to me!"

"I know you are." Napoleon quietly said.

Almost as if the strength had been drained out of him, he turned around and slumped into a nearby chair, one hand over his face. But Giono, with a look of realization, broached the question.

"Captain. Does that mean that you recognize that book? And it's from…"

"Yes. Some of the books managed to escape from that plane." Napoleon said. "This means that someone has them, and I currently have no idea who it is."

Giono clapped his hands together.

"Well. I'm glad someone managed to save them after all. But it wasn't you?"

"No." Napoleon said. "Someone must have gotten the books out of the plane during the fighting at Tarbes. But that was months ago. They could be anywhere now."

But if Barbaras received the book from the border between those two estates, then wouldn't it mean that one of those families recovered them?"

"Not necessarily." Napoleon said. "There's some things that don't make sense with that theory."

"What are you talking about?" Giono asked.

"Walloon's a conservative family. One of my soldiers used to be part of that family and can attest to that. Same with the Vallieres. If either family possessed the books, they would not give them away to a commoner printer like you. Much less a book which talks about how kings are a bad thing."

"What about the family that the books belonged to? They weren't nobles."

Napoleon looked up at Giono's suggestion. A finger tapped the table as he pondered the possibility.

"It's not impossible." He finally said. "There are quite a few problems with that. But we're missing a lot of important information. All we know is that at least one book from that plane survived, and there are probably more. We need to find them as soon as possible.

But we can start with your suggestion by looking for Siesta's family. I'm going to stay here overnight, Giono. When Louise wakes up, that's the first thing I'm talking about with her."

Giono nodded in assent. At that moment, Barbaras spoke up.

"So would one of you mind telling me what's the giant secret about that book?"

Giono and Napoleon looked at one another and then simutaneously back at Barbaras. And as Giono began to explain, Napoleon shrugged his shoulders.


	34. The Emperor: Chapter 7

"_In my viewpoint you are the ones I can't understand. To seek for justice in a place like a battlefield is what's strange_."

…

…

"Hmmm…."

Louise stirred a bit as she lazily opened her eyes. The bed…felt familiar. It was rough, and worn, but there was something safe and comforting about it.

She rolled around on it for a little while and then yawned and stretched as she rose up. But as she looked to her right side, she gave a small jump. Her partner sat on a chair right next to the bed. The entire scene gave Louise a strong sense of déjà vu as she realized where she was. This was Giono's room. She had slept here once before and had woken up to find her partner next to her, and now here he was again. However, unlike last time where he had fallen asleep, he now stared directly at Louise.

"Good morning, Louise."

There was something odd about him, Louise thought. His tone was different, as if he was seriously concerned about her for some reason.

"Good morning, Napoleon. How are you doing this morning?"

Napoleon blinked for a moment and tilted his head.

"Are you fine? Louise, tell me, are you really feeling better?"

"What are you talking about?" Louise said. "I guess I'm fine. Did something happen?"

She gave a wide yawn but then looked down at herself. That was strange. Normally, she undressed herself before she went to sleep. But she now wore her olive coat and uniform as if she had just collapsed on the bed. How did this happen? Did something knock her out and-

_Oh._

At that moment, she remembered what had happened last night. Her mother's wrath, completely directed at her as she made it clear that Louise had to die. Nothing had compared to it. Other bad memories and feelings like her fear at La Rochelle and the despair which she felt at Her Majesty's death had become small insignificant trifles compared to the hatred which Karin had felt for her. As the memories returned and the feeling of pain and despair confronted her, the energy she had gained through sleep drained out of her and she slumped back on the bed, her face turned white as snow.

"I guess," Napoleon quietly observed as he watched her reaction, "The answer to my question was a no."

He leaned back into his chair and said nothing more. He waited for Louise to recover and speak, to ask him questions. For some time, she continued to shiver and crawl on the bed like a worm. But she finally took a few deep breaths, before expelling the question which she knew she had to ask.

"What happened, Napoleon? Why did it happen?"

"What?" he asked. "Judging from your reaction, I believe that you remember what occurred in the palace last night."

"Yes. I remember." Louise said. "I remember the feeling of drowning, of suffocating under that pressure. I realized that my own mother wanted to kill me. I guess you saved me; otherwise I would be dead right now.

But why, Napoleon? Why is she trying to kill me? I'm her daughter. I know she scolded me without end because of my failures at magic. But she knew. She knows I'm a Void Mage and that I'm no longer a Zero. So why did she try to kill me there? And what am I supposed to do about that?"

She huffed out a dry sob afterwards, but Napoleon did nothing more than shake his head.

"I can't say, Louise. After all you know your own mother better than I do. But I do know this. You've done nothing wrong. I know you as well as anyone, and I'm honestly proud of you."

"Are you sure about that?" Louse whispered.

"Come again?"

But she didn't repeat herself. Instead, Louise looked down at the bed and then out the window. Napoleon for a moment wondered whether it was best to leave her alone. But he refused. There was so little time these days, and so much to do.

"Rather, Louise. I have a question to ask you. It's absolutely critical."

"Yes?"

"When you visited the castle, did you see Siesta while you were there?"

"Siesta?"

Napoleon nodded his expression serious. Louise could see that this question was of deadly importance to him, and thus tried to remember.

If she thought about it, she hadn't seen Siesta at the academy. That wasn't a surprise. She had been busy training with Colbert and had barely talked with anyone. Even though she knew that they were still at the Academy, she had never seen Kirche or Tabitha the entire time. Aside from telling Montmorency about Guiche and how he was doing these, Louise hadn't really interacted with the few students that were there. So no, she hadn't seen Siesta.

But she could tell that Napoleon was trying to find her. So when was the last time she had seen Siesta?

For a few minutes, she furrowed her brow and stared at the bed sheets, deep in thought. Napoleon watched her expression. She stayed like that, her expression stern and determined as she pondered the answer to his question. But then, her eyes slowly widened.

"No…no…no…"

As those words tumbled out of her mouth, Louise's face grew steadily paler. And at last, with a horrified expression, she looked up at Napoleon.

"Napoleon…are you telling me that I killed Siesta?"

"Huh?"

He realized too late the conclusion which Louise had drawn. The last time he had seen Siesta had been at Tarbes, when he had first discovered those books. It appeared that the same was true with Louise, and that she had not seen Siesta at the academy.

But Louise had destroyed the entire village when she had destroyed that plane.

"No, you didn't." Napoleon firmly stated. "You didn't kill Siesta."

She seemed to ignore his response. Louise just raised her hands to her eyes and stared at them.

"Are you sure about that? You know that you don't have to lie, Napoleon. I have so much blood on these hands already. I destroyed an entire Albion army. I destroyed a peasant village, a Tristanian village, and failed to save my friend and princess. So what does it matter if one more family, and a commoner family at that, dies right? That's the truth, isn't it Napoleon?"

She gave a tiny giggle and waved her hands in front of her.

"That's what mother taught me, you know? Commoners serve the nobles, and the nobles serve the princess. So if a thousand commoners die to save a noble, that's just how it is, right? But then shouldn't that mean that a thousand nobles should have died to save Henrietta?"

"You didn't kill her, Louise."

She stopped waving her hands at those words. They slowly came down, and as they gripped the sheets, Louise looked over at Napoleon with wild and panicked eyes.

"D-don't lie to me, Napoleon."

"I am not lying. You did not kill Siesta."

"DON'T LIE TO ME!" Louise shrieked. "You're just trying to protect me by hiding the truth! That's what you're doing, right! Because I'm still a failure! I killed Siesta! I lost to another mage because I was stupid and arrogant! And I failed to protect Henrietta and have killed so many soldiers and…"

She turned her face back onto her knees and began to cry, overwhelmed by everything which had hit her since she left the Academy. But it only served to humiliate her further, and so she cried even harder. How could she face her own partner anymore like this?

"….sorry."

Napoleon had mumbled something. Louise glanced up as snot dribbled out of her nose.

"W-what?"

Napoleon had looked down at the ground after those unheard words. But now he looked down at Louise.

"I said, 'I'm sorry for what I'm about to do'."

_WHAM_

With all of his strength, he openly punched Louise's left cheek, and she dropped on the mattress like a sack of bricks. Interestingly, it didn't actually hurt that much. Or maybe she was still too stunned about what had just happened.

"…You hit me."

After a few seconds, she only managed to say those few words, muffled as they were due to her face implanted on the mattress. But she had no time to think or do anything else, as Napoleon reached down and grabbed her by her collar.

"Did you forget, Louise? What I told you when you panicked over your lack of power when we rode back to Tristain?"

It was strange, she thought. In contrast to his actions, his voice filled was sorrow. But Louise remembered. He had told her that an Emperor should never show pity, and that he always demands the best out of his subjects. But that had not been the only thing he had told when she still believed she was a failure named Zero.

"_Thus, if I believe you are great, I will say so. And Valliere, if I believed that you were a pathetic failure of a mage, I would tell you that. But even then, I would not let you cower in fear because of your failures. If you summoned me, Valliere, then no doubt you wished for greatness. I will bring that to you, but only if you can bring me the will that shows you want it!"_

She gave a slow nod. Napoleon took his hand off her collar and gripped her shoulders.

"You are a killer, Louise. I won't deny that. There's no escaping that fate. You have a power unmatched by any mage in thousands of years. And you have to accept that you'll use it. You can choose to use it for yourself, but you can also choose to use it to protect your country and your home. If you want to do that, you can't run away and ignore those who you've killed."

"I want to ignore it." Louise quavered. "It's terrifying to see."

"Yes." Napoleon said. "It is."

He let go of her shoulders. But now his hands gave her a tousle as they rested there.

"But you can't ignore your mistakes and those who you've killed. If you try to do that, those memories will catch up to you, haunt you, and eventually destroy you. You have to challenge them. Acknowledge the reason you have for fighting, and remind yourself of your greatness, Louise. That's how you can defeat your anxiety and fear.

Don't forget them, Louise. Never forget those who you failed to protect. But resolve yourself to use your strength to do better."

She trembled at his words.

"So…I should accept my power to kill?"

"Not mindlessly. Fight for your country with your power, Louise. In fact, fight for any reason which you may desire. But I can tell you, Louise. You did not kill Siesta. She's alive, and I'm looking for her."

Louise slowly nodded at those words.

"I guess some of the books did escape and that she has them?"

"What?" Napoleon said.

"I can't think of another reason you would look for her at this point." Louise responded.

He tousled her hair one more time in response. Then he stood up from the bed, a smile on his face.

"I'm genuinely impressed. But do you always have to think the worst about me?"

Louise tried to chuckle at his jest, but the snot and tears which covered her face quickly turned it into a cough. Napoleon sat beside and hit her on the back in an attempt to calm her down. However, Louise laughed at that gesture, which only served to increase her coughing, which thus meant that Napoleon continued to hit her back. The strange cycle continued for a minute or so, until Louise finished coughing and began to laugh in earnest. Napoleon smiled and returned to his chair by the bed.

"You should smile more, Louise. It suits you."

Louise blushed at those words, and threw the covers over her head. But without waiting, Napoleon continued.

"So, she wasn't at the Academy while you were there?"

"Siesta could have been there." Louise said. "I didn't spend as much time at the Academy as I should have talking to the students. I just trained. Maybe when we return, we can see if she's there."

"Return?"

Louise felt it. There was something…strange about how he had repeated that word, and she looked at him in her confusion.

"Is there something wrong with that, Napoleon?"

Napoleon said nothing. He took a long, slow look at Louise and then covered his face.

"Are you sure you want to hear this? I guess you haven't had a moment to realize it."

"What is it?" Louise asked. "What's wrong?"

He gave a deep sigh. For possibly the first time that Louise had ever seen him, Napoleon seemed to hesitate to say what he wanted to say it. He hemmed and hawed and rubbed his hands together. Then at last, he gave a deep breath and spoke.

"Your mother tried to kill you, Louise."

Louise nodded.

"Yes. I know that. But what are you talking about?"

"Louise, if your mother would go so far as to try to kill you for whatever reason she possessed, there's no doubt in my mind that she'll disown you."

Louise blankly stared at that statement.

"What?"

"I know you heard me." Napoleon said. "She's almost certainly disowned you. That would also mean that Karin will withdraw you from the Academy and your family will no longer send you any money."

He waited after he finished those words and watched Louise's face for a long time. But her expression didn't change. She slowly nodded as she understood the implications of Napoleon's conclusion.

"So, I'm a disowned noble now."

"Yes."

"And I'll probably never return to the estate again either."

"Yes."

"And I'll probably never see Cattleya again."

"Yes."

"And I'm still stuck with a mad lunatic with a weird hat who rants about how he was an Emperor."

"No."

"Darn." Louise said. "I thought you would fall for it."

Napoleon shook his head, but he continued to gaze at Louise. She looked back at him for a moment.

"Don't worry, Napoleon. I'm not going to explode or cry. I've done enough of that for today."

And with those words, she finally moved out of her bed. As she reached the door, he called out the question he needed to know.

"Are you sure you're not upset?"

She stopped as her hand rested on the doorknob.

"Of course I'm upset. I'm scared and frightened and terrified. I've lost my status and my money, and to make things worse, I don't even know why my mother is so angry at all. I can't think of a reason

But I'll persevere. I'll work hard and become a great mage and convince mother to make me a Valliere again. I can do it, Napoleon. After all, I've met other disowned nobles during the fighting. There's Martin, for example."

"And there's me."

Louise heard a voice, smooth and melodious, from the other side of the door. But then without warning, someone pulled open the door to Giono's room. As she had been holding the door knob, Louise stumbled forward, and her head collided with the person on the other side of the door.

"Ack! Sorry-huh?"

She looked up and was stunned at the sight before her. Louise had collided with a woman she had never seen before. She had short golden hair, and wore a simple woolen green and white dress. A pair of small glasses rested on her nose as she looked down on Louise. As the other woman looked down on Louise, she gave a warm and gentle smile.

"It's a pleasure to see you, master. I've been worried about you."

Louise's face turned red at the address by this beautiful woman.

"M-m-master? You must be mistaken, I don't know you! W-wait, unless you're Fou-"

"I am Matilda Duvall from Albion, Louise. Not Fouquet. Not anymore."

"Matilda? But how? This isn't you! You look completely…different! How did this happen?"

She snapped her head back towards Napoleon, who shrugged.

"Giono knows people. They've been busy last night."

Louise gaped at those words.

"Then, where is he?"

"He went out," Napoleon said. "He'll be back in a couple of hours."

"O-okay. But, Matilda, how! This is…is…"

"It's the beginning of a new life." Fouquet said. "I'll admit I have to thank you, Louise. I can now protect myself from my enemies as well as my sister. There's nothing else in the world that I want."

She gave a deep bow to Louise, who blushed even harder. And as Napoleon looked at Louise's new servant, he gave a small smile of appreciation.

…

"Advance!"

Robert de Gramont shouted those words at the soldiers who stood in front of him. Assembled in a closed-rank formation, they quickly obeyed the orders of their commanding officer and marched forward in a single, unified step.

"Present arms!"

With those words, the soldiers stopped and held out their weapons to Gramont. But as Gramont inspected every inch of their weapons and uniforms, it proved to be redundant. Every soldier in the Tristanian army had worked himself to the bone to present his best face for the march that would occur in a few hours. Even the new black armbands which they had received for the funeral seemed messy in comparison with their sparkling uniforms.

"That will be good enough, Gramont."

Napoleon rode up to his lieutenant. Gramont promptly turned and snapped off an impressive salute, and every soldier who saw their leader repeated the gesture.

"General Bonaparte. Congratulations on your promotion."

"I'll admit I'm surprised myself." Napoleon said. "I didn't expect Mazarin to give that to me in front of the crowd at yesterday's victory parade. I know certain nobles are upset about that."

"He may be only the temporary leader of Tristain, but he is our leader," Gramont stated. "So he had every right to give it to you. Besides, with our general staff so devastated by Albion's attack at Saxe-Gotha, he had to select quite a few new figures to command our armies."

Napoleon nodded, and then looked at the soldiers.

"You know your positions. Assemble in the city and line the streets in which Her Majesty's hearse shall pass through. Make sure that the way ahead is clean and clear. Go!"

The soldiers once again saluted, and began to march off. Gramont looked over at Napoleon.

"Are you not going to lead them?" He asked.

"Of course not." Napoleon responded. "I thought I already told you. The officers who will not line the street will escort the hearse through the streets and to the Grand Cathedral. That includes us."

"I understand."

With those words, Gramont looked away from Napoleon and out at the marching soldiers. The Emperor sighed and scuffed some dirt with his foot.

"Well," Napoleon finally said. "I heard that you rejected an offer at promotion yourself. Are you sure you intend to go back and just control your family's private army?"

"That's what I commanded before the disaster at Saxe-Gotha forced us to reorganize ourselves." Gramont said. "There's no higher honor I can think of."

"Is that so?" Napoleon observed. "But Gramont, why do you serve your family?"

The young man looked over at Napoleon as his blond locks fell over his face.

"That is an odd question, General. Why wouldn't I serve my family?"

"You serve your family, but your family serves your nation." Napoleon said. "So why don't you just serve Tristain directly?"

"And join the Royal Army? Father would never allow for it. He views the Royal Army officers as a bunch of commoner thugs with no pride or honor."

"Well," asked Napoleon. "Do you think that I am a commoner thug with no pride or honor?"

Gramont looked over at Napoleon. He in turn stared out at the army.

"Don't let yourself be bound by petty rules, Gramont. You should work where you'll have the greatest chance of making an impact and becoming a truly great individual.

But come. Let us march with our comrades."

Napoleon walked over to a nearby horse and mounted it, leaving Gramont alone with his thoughts. The young, stern man watched his commanding officer's back as Napoleon rode off.

…

"_Forgive her and have mercy on her._

_Keep her safe from her troubles, and honor her services and remember all that she has performed in your service._

_Wash her with water and snow, and dress her with white linen and lilies_

_And cleanse of all the sins she has committed._

_Oh Brimir, admit this soul to paradise, and protect her from the torment of the grave and of evil._

_Make her tomb spacious and clean and fill it with your light."_

Mazarin closed the book he held, and bowed his head. Everyone in the cathedral who had listened to his prayer followed the gesture, including Napoleon. Louise sat to his right as she wore a long black dress, and Matilda sat to Louise's right.

The Cardinal set the book aside and then pulled out a sheet of paper. He then looked out at the crowd which occupied every inch of the pews in front of him. Every important member of the nobility, as well as quite a few unimportant ones, sat as two coffins rested at the front of the cathedral. He could see the Vallieres, the Walloons, the Gramonts, Touraine, the Montmorencies, and so many peers and nobles.

There were only two exceptions to the crowd of nobles. At the front sat Napoleon along with his partner, the youngest Valliere daughter, and her bodyguard. He couldn't forget the scene that had occurred between mother and daughter a few days ago, and worried about another incident. But today, he had seen Karin do everything in her power to avoid looking at her daughter. It was less conspicuous, but almost as cruel.

In addition, at the back sat Barbaras and Giono. Mazarin hadn't really wanted to invite either of them. The nobility despised the former for his lending policies, and also disliked Giono for some of the pieces he had written on some noble families. But Barbaras had asked Mazarin for permission, and had even paid the Cardinal handsomely in return for a seat at the Cathedral. Even as almost every noble had glanced askance at his presence as they walked in, he paid utterly no heed to them as he looked ahead at the coffin.

All of the powerful people in Tristain were here. Almost all of them would attend the conference that would begin after five days of mourning to determine the future ruler of Tristain. Which made the funeral oration which Mazarin had prepared all the more important.

"We gather today to mourn our leader. Someone who was kind, and fair, and just. Someone who took care of everyone within this country, regardless of who he was or where he came from. She was a graceful and charming woman who loved every single one of her subjects.

When we join her in the dust, and future generations will discuss about her too-short reign, they will talk about the future she could have built. She was placed upon her throne thanks to the many maladies which her mother suffered. But she did not shirk from her duty. Instead, she endured and worked through difficult times and triumphs. She led our country through enemy attack, and yet while she did not witness the end, she built what became the foundations for our final victory.

There are no words today which can summarize and conceal the grief which I know I and everyone in this room and across the country shares at this moment. But it is because of that grief that we must remember the legacy which Princess Henrietta left us.

She wished for us to stand united. When the war with Albion began, and I and many others panicked and discussed about what to do, she rose up to the challenge. She told us to stand strong for the country, and that she would fight herself to defend her home. It was a profound and important moment. Without it, I believe that our country would have stayed disunited and we would have lost the war.

But that moment showed her greatness and her belief in her country. And so, as we consign her to Brimir's hand, we must follow her legacy. We must work with one another, with peace and mercy, to build the future that she cannot witness from this world. Let us remember our great Princess as Tristain shall continue forward to a world where each day shall become better than the last."

Mazarin finished, and bowed his head. The audience in the church politely applauded. Afterwards, twelve people stood up from the rows. Mazarin had designated them to serve as the pallbearers. They would take the coffins out to the yard behind the church. In that yard, a magnificent tomb signified the final resting place of the King of Tristain. He would now be joined with his wife and daughter.

Yet despite Mazarin's speech for unity, there was an air of hostility around Henrietta's corpse as the cardinal led both coffins. Napoleon had been selected as one of her pallbearers. And behind him, the Duchess of Valliere stared at him with hostility.

Yet they said nothing to each other, nor did Karin draw her wand and cause any trouble. The procession made its way to the tomb and they set down the coffins. The prayers and the chants began as Mazarin prayed to Brimir for deliverance.

Finally, after half an hour, the ceremony was over and the tomb closed. The funeral had come to an end. Mazarin and most of the pallbearers departed, but then the Cardinal looked back. Napoleon and Karin stood side by side as they gazed at the tomb in front of them. For a moment, the Cardinal worried and thought about intervening. But he finally made the decision to leave as the two were left alone. As the wind blew through and signified the emptiness of the cemetery, Napoleon made the decision to speak first.

"What is it, Karin?" he mockingly asked. "Are you still angry at me because I prevented you from killing your own daughter?"

"You're as much of a traitor as she is." Karin responded as she still stared at the tomb. "You failed to protect Henrietta. So did your army, and so did your lieutenants and every soldier in your army. The minute your army realized that she was dead, every single one as well as you should have all killed themselves out of their shame."

She was sincere, Napoleon knew. Karin really would have done that. If she had been on the battlefield and had failed to protect Henrietta, she would have killed herself without hesitation.

"So why stop?" he asked. "You could kill me right now, I'm sure. There isn't even anyone watching, and I didn't bring my sword."

"You can live with your dishonor, though I don't know how you do such a thing." Karin said. "But Louise is different. She doesn't dishonor only herself. Every minute she walks on this earth after abandoning Her Majesty, she brings shame to the entire Valliere family. I cannot permit her to live as long as she does so."

Silence followed her words for a moment as the two stared at the tomb.

"Well, Karin," he said, "If that's the way you view things, why don't we make a deal?"

The Duchess's eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"And what kind of deal would I want with a traitor and coward like you?"

"It's really quite simple." Napoleon said. "I'll give you Louise and let you do what you like with her. In return, you give me Siesta and all of those books she possesses."

"What?"

Karin finally whirled towards Napoleon in shock.

"How did you know? Who told you that Siesta was under my service?"

He gave a long, slow, smile to that question.

"You just did. My sincerest thanks."

He gave a small chuckle as Karin realized the trick he had just pulled, and her face reddened in shame and anger.

"You slimy demon-"

"Oh, come now, come now" Napoleon grumbled. "Are you telling me that you've survived this long as Duchess without resorting to any tricks?"

"That was different." She spat. "That was a low trick meant to distract me while I mourn, something only a coward would do."

"If you say so. But how about a serious offer?"

She glared suspiciously at him.

"What do you want now?"

Napoleon cut her off and looked directly at Karin.

"If Louise really is that much of a shame to your family, then disown her. But killing her is unnecessary."

"Is that so?" Karin asked. "And are you going to stop me?"

He turned his body and took a single large step towards Karin. Out of pure instinct, she jumped back but then looked back at Napoleon. He continued to walk forward towards her, and only stopped when he stood directly in front of Karin. He then leaned forward and their foreheads touched as the two stared at each other.

"Of course I will." He growled. "You will not lay a single finger on Louise or I will destroy you, Karin. I will destroy you, your family, your estate, your honor, and anything and everything you value. I will make it so that when people talk about the Vallieres in a thousand years from now, they won't remember your honor or glory, but instead they'll talk about the miserable way in which your family was extinguished as you crawled with blood spurting out of your mouth. That will be your legacy.

I'm not going to pretend you aren't my enemy. You are. But there are lines I don't intend to cross. You attempt to physically harm Louise, and I will cross them. Mark my words."

The two stared at each other with such ferocity and from a distance where a stranger might have assumed that they were lovers. But at last, Karin turned away from Napoleon with a huff.

"Fine. I will accept merely banishing Louise as a punishment for her disgrace. But I know this, Napoleon. We are enemies. And if you, or Louise, stand in the way of my rightful throne, I will kill both of you."

With a final glare, she left the cemetery and Napoleon watched her depart. He simply looked back at Henrietta's tomb, completely alone.

"Sorry, Henrietta…"

And as he said those words, his mouth twisted upwards to a wide, devilish grin.

"But I win."

…

"Wake up, Louise. It's time to get up."

"…bweeehhhh….murgle blurgle blaarrgggghhhh…"

Louise sleepily waved her arms as she was shaken awake, but as she finally opened her eyes, she noticed something odd. She felt refreshed. For the first night in what she had believed to be ages, Louise had not dreamt of death, or destruction, or of battlefields. The result was that she felt alert in a way that she normally never felt in the mornings.

Still, it took her a moment to see that Fouquet – no, Matilda – was shaking her awake. As Louise sat up, Fouquet leaned back by the tent wall.

"Good morning, Louise. I'm glad to see you're properly awake. We need to get going."

"Going?" Louise repeated. "The funeral was yesterday. There's nowhere we need to go right now."

"You asked me to be your teacher." Fouquet calmly responded. "Therefore, our lessons are going to begin right now."

"Right now?" Louise said as she gazed out of the tent. "The sun isn't even up yet."

"The sooner they begin the better."

With those words, Fouquet stood up and walked towards the exit. Louise couldn't help it as her eyes fell on her short golden hair. The hairstyle reminded her of Guiche, she thought.

"I'll be waiting outside the tent for you to get dressed." The former thief said as she left. "There's a pair of horses outside. We'll be taking them into the city."

Louise nodded and finally removed herself from her bed. Thirty minutes later, both of them rode past Tristania's walls.

"So," Louise said as she finally broached the courage to ask, "Where are we going that I can learn about magic so early?"

"Magic?"

Fouquet stopped in the middle of the city street and looked at Louise.

"Louise, you remember what Napoleon told you last night after the funeral? About how you have been formally removed from the family?"

"How could I forget?" Louise said.

It was a plain question, without the slightest hint of sadness or bitterness. Fouquet couldn't but wonder about her charge.

_She's taking her loss of status far better than I did when it happened to me_.

"Well, you may have your magic, but you're now basically a commoner." Fouquet said. "However, you've been raised as a noble girl your entire life. That will create problems for you in the future if we don't do something about it."

"What do you mean by 'do something about it?'" Louise asked.

Fouquet kicked her horse and began to trot along the streets again.

"Well, it means that you're going to have to learn how to be a commoner. You'll have to know how to act like a commoner, think like a commoner, eat like a commoner, and so on. We'll have to take everything about manners and etiquette that you learned about when you grew as a child of the Valliere family and throw it all away.

Now, obviously I can't teach you to act like a commoner overnight, and Napoleon also asked you last night to attend the nobles' conference with him and you accepted. Therefore, I can't plan any lessons out for the long term. But for today, and the next few days, there are a few things I can do."

Louise nodded, but then Fouquet stopped again. The former thief pointed at a small nondescript building. Louise didn't know why… but it seemed oddly familiar.

"We'll be staying here for the next three days." Fouquet said. "It may not be the ideal place for your first lessons, but the innkeeper is a good friend of mine. We can trust him."

She dismounted and led her horse to a stable near the inn, and Louise did the same. And as the two walked in, Louise stopped for a moment glanced at the small sign which had been placed by the door.

_Charming Fairie Inn_.

She shrugged at those words. Fouquet had walked on ahead and Louise could hear her chatting with someone inside of the inn. Louise entered the main room of the inn.

And upon seeing and recognizing the person Matilda was talking to, Louise wondered whether surrendering to her mother really was the worst possible option. She didn't really remember the inn that well. When Napoleon and Louise had travelled to Tristania on the Day of the Void so long ago, she had been so exhausted from searching for a place to stay that she barely looked at the inn before she collapsed onto a bed. But she had remembered one thing. While she hadn't remembered the innkeeper, she realized something that she had never thought about this entire time.

Despite all the battles and conflicts which her partner had participated in, meeting the owner of the Charming Fairy Inn had been the only time he had shown fear in front of Louise. And now, she understood why, as she looked at the barkeeper as _it_ flexed its muscles and posed while talking with Matilda.

"Ah, yes, yes, I see! So, the girl, she is a former noble, then!"

He twirled around on one foot. While Louise stared with horror, Matilda calmly nodded.

"Yes. So, I'd like her to work here for a few days. Could you make room?"

"WHAT?"

Louise could only shriek out that single word in response. But as the owner of the Charming Fairy Inn looked over, he gave a happy smile and danced over to Louise.

"Ah, oui oui! Such a cute and precious little girl, with such a loud voice! That shows her determination! And dearest Matilda can vouch for her? C'est bien, c'est bien. I shall put her to work immeadiatement!"

"W-wh-wh-wh-wh-"

Louise only managed to stammer those words out, but Fouquet put a hand on the owner's shoulder.

"Scarron. I would like to speak with Louise, please?"

"Mais of course!" he squealed. "Please, take all the time you wish! I still have time to spare!"

Fouquet gave a smile of thanks to Scarron, and then moved closer to Louise. She put a hand over her charge's shoulder.

"Just what is this?" Louise squeaked. "What are you doing, Fouquet?"

"It's called working, Louise." Fouquet smiled. "You'll be doing a bit more of this as a commoner. And I can promise that this job pays well and is perfectly safe. For someone in your position, it's as good of a start as you can get."

"But he's terrifying!" Louise quietly shrieked.

"Terrifying?" Fouquet responded. "Oh, Scarron?"

"Yes!"

"Louise, there's plenty more terrifying people out there in this city, never mind Tristain." Fouquet calmly stated. "I know Scarron. He's helped me out a lot. Just try to do your best, okay?"

"A-alright." Louise said. "I know you'll be able to help me, so I'll be fine, right?"

"No."

"What?"

"Well, the thing is that I came to Tristain today for two reasons. This is one. I think you know what the other one is."

Louise took a moment to think about the second reason, but then her eyes lit up.

"You're going to check on Tiffania?"

"Napoleon told me she's been fine working at the orphanage located in this city." Fouquet said. "But I want to see it for myself and make sure she's alright."

She lifted her arm and stood up.

"Don't worry, Louise. I'll be back in a few hours. But that also means that if you screw up too much, I'll know about it. So work hard, okay?"

She waved to Louise and walked out of the inn. Louise tried to smile back at her. She had to appear confident and show that she knew what she was doing.

"You have said your farewells, dear Louise? Come along then. Dear Scarron shall now teach you the ancient and most mysterious arts of your work. And do not forget to call me "mi mademoiselle!"

_Still_, she thought as she looked at Scarron, _perhaps the battlefield really isn't just such a terrifying place after all._

…

"Present arms!"

Napoleon's lieutenants shouted their orders as the men fell into line. It had now been four days since the funeral. Today was the last day of mourning for Henrietta, and the next day would be the beginning of the conference. But because of that, he had been forced to make a risky proposition.

The Tristanian Army he commanded currently consisted of the bulk of the entire country's army. As of this moment, he was currently in command of over 25,000 soldiers. By the standards of a small nation such as Tristain, that constituted a formidable fighting force under his command.

And now he would cut its strength by more than half. 15,000 men were assembled at a field outside of Tristania. They had received notices that they were to return home to their families and lives.

Ultimately, Napoleon had had no choice. The Tristanian army normally had two sections. The Crown commanded the Royal Army, and the nobles created contingents of soldiers which formed the national army. In the aftermath of the Saxe-Gotha disaster, he had managed to integrate both forces into one army in preparation for the victory he had planned. But now that he had returned to Tristania, where other generals with his rank existed who could challenge his military authority, he no longer possessed the ability to retain his sole command.

So, rather than fight off political attacks from other generals and the nobles, he simply ordered those men to return home. In addition to removing a force which could prove troublesome should the nobility succeed in reclaiming command, he would also gain the gratitude of those men in the National Army.

He watched as the men took their weapons and stacked them before they returned to him. Unfortunately, he had no way of speaking to all of them at once, and Giono could hardly be expected to print out over 15,000 pamphlets on a few days' notice. Still, he had given orders that anyone who wishes for help should stop by his tent, and he would do anything in his power to assist them.

Thus as the lieutenants read out his orders for the National Army to disband and return to their homes, he waited at his tent for the first person to arrive with complaints. In the meantime, he continued to write. Advising Wales from Tristain was difficult so far, but the Prince seemed to have adjusted well. Still, he continually proposed measures which would improve his country such as a standardization of measurements and further internal improvements.

The tent flap opened, and Napoleon looked up to see the first person who would come in with concerns. But after seeing who it was, he set down his pen and folded his hands in front of him.

"Now this is a surprise. I didn't expect you to show up, Guiche."

The young man nodded. But Napoleon then saw that Foucard and Martin accompanied Guiche. The pair of soldiers glowered at the young boy as he walked towards Napoleon.

"You know, Guiche, when you signed up for my guard, you joined the Royal Army, not the National Army. The Army will be redeployed and organized, but you guys will stay right here with me. So, what are you here for?"

"Well, that's the thing. I'd like to return to the Tristanian Academy to continue my studies." Guiche said.

Foucard shook his head.

"What's the matter with you? You barely got your ears wet fighting, young lad. And now you want to go home?"

"But the war's over." Guiche said. "Martin, I know you talked to me about negotiating and stuff, but I'm not needed any more. I'd like to go back and make myself a great mage, and then I'll return."

"You just don't get it, do you Guiche?" Martin said. "I told you. There's going to be a civil war."

"And that doesn't make sense, Martin! That won't happen. Just because Henrietta's dead without an heir doesn't mean-"

"So, you want to go home?"

Napoleon interrupted their argument and Guiche turned away from Martin and to Napoleon.

"Yes."

"You are aware that you have no right to make such a request, correct?"

Guiche de Gramont twitched at those words, but then looked down at the ground.

"Yes. I know. I know you can order me to return to the camp."

"So," Napoleon asked. "If I told you to shut up, return to the camp, and completely refuse to grant you leave, what would you do?"

"I would return to the camp and wait." Guiche instantly replied.

Napoleon nodded.

"That's a good answer. You have learned, Guiche. I'll be happy to grant you leave to return to your studies."

"What?" Foucard said. "But sir-"

"Education is important, Foucard." Napoleon said. "It is a worthy cause especially since I know Guiche will return to us."

He gave a warm smile to Guiche, but the boy stared at Napoleon with determination. Then he stepped forward and bowed on one knee.

"I want to swear it, Napoleon. If I am going to leave the Guards, then I need to promise on my honor that I will return. Please, sir. Allow me to swear my loyalty to you."

Martin gave a low whistle.

"Guiche that is not something you should do lightly."

"I don't care!" Guiche shouted. "My honor as a member of the Gramont family demands it. Please, Napoleon, let me commit to your service."

He kept his head bended away from Napoleon, and Napoleon in turn looked at Guiche. Then he once again smiled, though this one was imperceptibly different compared to the warm one he had given Guiche earlier.

"Very well, Guiche. Repeat these words after myself. 'I, Guiche de Gramont.'"

"I, Guiche de Gramont."

"Do solemnly swear in the name of Brimir to serve and be eternally loyal to Napoleon Bonaparte and to obey any order he gives and defend his person unto death."

Guiche did not hesitate for a moment and repeated Napoleon's words to the letter.

"Rise, Guiche de Gramont." Napoleon said. "You have completed your oath. And I am honored that you would swear such an oath for me."

"And I'm honored to swear such an oath." Guiche proclaimed as he stood up and looked at the Emperor. "Thank you, General Bonaparte. I promise that I shall never regret this moment!"

Napoleon nodded. With a wave of his hand, he indicated that the three men were dismissed. But as they walked out, he spoke up again.

"Martin. A word alone, if you please."

The wind mage stopped and waited in front of Bonaparte as the other two left as Napoleon once again folded his hands.

"What exactly did you mean when you said there's going to be a civil war?" Napoleon asked.

"I don't know." Martin said. "I've got a feeling in my gut that says it's going to happen. After all, Tristain doesn't really have a ruler right now."

"But there's going to be a conference to determine who will run the country."

"Perhaps." Martin mused. "It doesn't really concern me. I don't care who runs Tristain, and fighting is the only thing I'm good at anyways. Maybe I'm just looking forward to some more action. After all, you're going to be one of the most important figures if there is a war."

"You really think that?"

"You've risen pretty fast in the ranks, General. People notice. Important people take notice. That's how the world works. So you'll play a role. And well, I know you. You're not a bad person, so maybe we'll be fine if you do run things."

Napoleon slowly nodded.

"I see, Martin. You're dismissed."

Martin crisply saluted Napoleon, but then slouched down as he strolled out of his tent. Napoleon look back after the wind mage for a moment before another soldier, this time from the National Army, came in to discuss his troubles. He calmly set his pen down and began to listen to their complaints.


	35. The Emperor: Chapter 8

_The sun shone brighter than ever before over the woods. It was a cool, crisp morning, and she knew that on a better day, she would have taken the time to enjoy it._

_But now there was no time to do so. When her village had been enveloped by the mysterious light, she had honestly expected the army that had destroyed it to stay by the village. After all, the invaders had not been one who had destroyed the village. It was the defenders who had apparently engulfed the village in light while the invaders celebrated their victory. Consequently, she had believed that after winning such a victory, the defending army would stay and help rebuild the village._

_They did no such thing. A few soldiers were posted by the village to act as sentries, but the bulk of the army marched away and left her home to its fate. The mysterious light caused fires to erupt throughout the village. Generations upon generations of carefully accumulated wealth and buildings were destroyed in a single night._

_However, the girl reasoned as she looked upon the blackened town, the fire couldn't have destroyed everything. So there must be something to salvage and reuse. In order to do so, she walked through the ruins and examined building after building._

_How had this happened, she wondered to herself? How could that mysterious light have done so much damage? She worked at a prestigious magical academy as a maid, and thus knew through gossip, whispers, and lost books the basics of how the nobility used their magic. She had even practiced a few times out of the desperate hope that maybe she was a secret, hidden mage as well, to no avail. But she knew of no such magic which could destroy an entire village in one blast._

_The girl finally reached her destination. It had once been a comfortable home, adequate to take care of her parents and all of their children. Now it was a smoldering wreck. The roof and two of the walls had caved in both from the light and the invaders' dragon attacks that had occurred the day before._

"_Big sister! Big sister!"_

_She turned around upon hearing a familiar voice. A young boy ran down the street towards her. But the girl did not bother to embrace or comfort her little brother in the slightest as he arrived._

"_What are you doing, Pierre? I told all of you to wait in the forest while I look for Mommy and Daddy."_

"_I'm sorry, big sis!" the boy cried. "But Robin and Paul are really hungry. They won't stop crying because of that, so I wanted to help Big Sis while she went back home."_

_The girl sighed and looked down at her brother._

"_I told you. Right now, the only thing you do to is pray to Brimir. I'm sure that he'll come to help us. Now please, go back. Big Sis will find Mommy and Daddy by herself."_

"_But I'm already here!" Pierre yelled! "I'm a big boy! I can help Big Sis find them."_

"_No, it's too dangerous for you here. Go back."_

"_But-"_

"_I SAID go back."_

_The tone of her voice made the finality of her statement clear. Pierre looked at her big sister for several seconds and then dashed back in the direction he had come from. As she watched him run off, the girl silent apologized to the boy, but she knew that she had to make it clear for him not to follow her. It wasn't out of concern for his safety that she had ordered her little brother to go back. Instead, she didn't want her little brother to realize that Mommy and Daddy were almost certainly not coming back._

_But if they were really gone, where would she go? La Rochelle was the nearest city and the best destination for refugees like herself, she thought. But what if that wasn't possible? Her father did have a brother who lived in Tristania. But the two hated each other because of the brother's…oddities, and it would be an insult to his memory if she thus went begging to him. _

_No. La Rochelle would have to do. There was no reason why she and her siblings couldn't head there anyways. Her brothers and sisters were praying and invoking Brimir's protection at this very moment. What greater shield could there be?_

_She took a few steps forward towards the house and then stopped. She stared at something which she had not seen when she had first laid eyes on her old home. Two bodies, blackened and charred, lay on the ground in front of the girl's home. Even in death, they held each other's hand._

_And as Siesta's knees hit the ground and she wailed without restraint, for the first time she began to wonder whether that shield really would prove sufficient._

…

Siesta's eyes opened as she woke up. She didn't forget the dream. She rarely did these days. The memories of her past continued to plague her regardless of whether she slept or awake. Even when she had worked in the Academy, she had gotten used to small amounts of sleep as some noble or another had some trivial desire which she would have to immediately fulfill. Nowadays with her nightmares, she was lucky if she slept four hours a night.

She looked across her room. Pierre and Emilie, the only two siblings she had left, slept peacefully together on another bed. They were well fed and happy within the castle. The size of the castle still amazed them and they spent hours upon hours exploring and playing. In addition, even the busy servants of the estate were charmed by their curiosity and some had taken their precious free time to teach them their letters as well as basic arithmetic. Siesta herself helped when she could, but she was so busy these days with everything she had to do for both her present and future.

She had failed to find a place in the nearby village for them to stay. She regularly visited the village and she knew that many of them liked her due to the gossip or small trinkets which she managed to remove from the estate. But when she had asked any of them if they could take care of her brother and sister, their moods instantly shifted and they all refused. Some simply stated that they couldn't afford to take care of two children, but many more of them just refused to look at Siesta and give her a specific reason. But from Siesta's perspective, that refusal to speak was just as good as any answer they could have given. She was not a fool. It was obvious from their actions that they chose not to take care of Pierre and Emilie because of pressure from their Duchess. But through her actions, Karin had confirmed everything which Siesta had believed about her.

The fact was that Karin did not care for Siesta's interest in the slightest, the maid concluded. She was looking out for her own. And because of that, it likely meant that the minute she finished translating the books, Karin would dispose of her. Possibly even before that. If Karin ever figured out the two lies Siesta had been using throughout her translation project…

She thought back to her conversation with Jerome in the cherry orchard. He had told her that day that Karin had cared for Siesta's siblings, and that she would always fulfill her vows. Of course, she couldn't trust that doddering old man either. The butler always hung around her these days. He normally claimed that he wished to help or simply brought her tea. But he was likely someone Karin had sent to spy on him.

So even though she knew that Pierre and Emilie were happy with their new lives, she knew she would have to make her move soon. Honestly, she should have done what she was doing now from the very beginning, but better late than never. If she could get and prepare _that_ before the Duke and Duchess returned from their trip to Tristania, then there would be no problems.

With those thoughts in her mind, Siesta put on her white and blue dress and a pair of slippers, and then walked over to her siblings. They continued to sleep peacefully, without a care in the world, and Siesta stopped for a moment to stroke both of their heads. Then after smiling at both of them, she left her room, quietly closing the door behind her. Siesta made her way through the Valliere estate to the location where she spent most of her time these days. At this early morning hour, she did not meet or see anyone as she walked through the halls.

However, as Siesta arrived at the library entrance, she stopped. A tall, blond-haired woman who wore a set of pointy glasses stood in front of the entrance. As she turned her head towards Siesta, it was clear that she had been waiting for her.

"Good morning, Siesta."

Siesta glared at the woman for a moment, before she lowered her head to her waist in an obsequious bow.

"Good morning, Eleanor. May I ask why you are up at this early hour?"

"I think you know why." Eleanor responded. "I want to look at the library. I want to help you."

"Lady Karin has already said that I am the only one permitted to deal with those books." Siesta declared. "So even if I wanted your help, why would you come here?"

"Well, you see," Eleanor smiled, "Mother is not here. And as I am the elder Valliere daughter, I believe that I currently possess the right to go into the library."

Siesta snorted at those words.

"So, what are you laughing at me about this time?" Eleanor asked.

"You said 'elder daughter'. Not 'eldest.' I'm surprised, Eleanor. You adapted to that change quite well."

"She dishonored the family." Eleanor coolly replied. "I'm not sure what point you're making."

"You don't have any problem going along with your mother when she deals with your sister, but if she does something which personally annoys you, you circumvent her the minute her back is turned. Hypocrite."

Eleanor's lip thinned a little bit at those words.

"That's none of your business. Cattleya stopped you from dealing with me as I should have last time, commoner. But that is different now. Siesta, I order you to let me look at those books."

"I already proved you can't help me. Remember the book I gave you?"

"Because it's ridiculous." Eleanor spat. "You're not special. What makes you the only person capable of reading those books, anyways?"

Siesta shrugged at those words.

"I don't know myself. The books came from another world, and I am the descendant of the man who brought them here. Just as your blood lets you cast magic, mine lets me read them. Perhaps if you so desperately desire to read those books, we can switch our powers."

She bowed once again as if her proposal was serious. Eleanor's eyebrows twitched at the suggestion.

"You're going too far, commoner. Like I said, I am a researcher in magical artifacts. I know all sorts of ancient magical languages! Do not suggest that there is something which I cannot read, and let me in the library!"

Siesta blankly stared at those words. Then she abruptly wheeled around and began to walk off in the other direction.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Eleanor shouted. "Come back here, Siesta! That's an order!"

"I answer to Lady Karin, not to you." Siesta responded as she walked off. "I'll deal with the books later by myself. Good day, Eleanor."

"Wait!"

But it was too late. Siesta rounded a corner in the hallway and walked off. Eleanor grumbled and thought about chasing after Siesta and possibly even forcing her to open the library, but she did nothing. Mother would be upset if she went against her orders. Perhaps she could go to Father and ask permission.

_Why couldn't she understand?_ She thought to herself as she walked off in the opposite direction of Siesta. _I'm just trying to help. If Siesta finishes her translations, then she can take care of Pierre and Emilie full-time._

…

"This …is…"

Louise couldn't believe it. She had been prepared to work, yes. Fouquet had tricked her into coming here and had left her here so she could head to Tiffania's orphanage, but Louise understood her teacher's reasoning. For now, she was a lowly commoner who was only fit for the most menial and miserable tasks. But if that was the role she had been forced to play, then she would attempt to learn it. It was true that she didn't actually have any experience with the duties of a waitress, how hard could it be? She had resolved herself to work hard, and that was good enough.

_But to wear THIS, _she thought as she looked at herself in a mirror. The innkeeper, Scarron, had told her to change in a separate room and had given her what he had stated to be "an appropriate dress". But dresses weren't supposed to cut off at the very top of her legs, nor were they supposed to show so much skin! And its pink color just made her look even more vulnerable! This was…hideous, grotesque, an offense against the laws of man and Brimir! How could she be expected to wear this at her very first commoner job?

Louise would have likely continued to wallow in her self-misery, but then someone rapped on the door to her room.

"I'm coming in." a voice said from the other side.

Before Louise could say anything, it was pulled open. A young girl who appeared to be Louise's age stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips. She wore a green dress which matched well with her long black hair.

"Hey, new girl!" she huffed. "Father gave you those clothes ten minutes ago. It shouldn't take that long to put them on!"

"F-father?" Louise asked. "Wait, are you talking about-"

"Yes." The girl said as she rolled her eyes. "Scarron, the innkeeper, is my father. Please do not hold that against me."

She took a single step forward and stuck out her hand.

"Anyways, my name is Jessica. Father may say he's the innkeeper, but as far as you're concerned, that's really me. He takes care of the important business and I handle the day to day management as well as the workers. Obviously, that includes you."

Louise hesitated for a moment, and then gingerly grabbed Jessica's hand and shook it.

"Nice to meet you, Jessica. I am Louise Va-"

Louise stopped right there, as she realized the problem. Could she call herself a Valliere anymore? But if she didn't call herself a Valliere, than what did she call herself? Or should she just admit the truth that she was a disowned noble? But then how would that affect her job?

Louise fidgeted slightly as she thought of the appropriate terminology for this new stage of her life. However, she managed to reach a decision before Jessica spoke up.

"Call me Louise. That will be fine."

"Hmmmmm." Jessica murmured. "Alright, Louise it is. Now that you're dressed, I should take you down to meet your fellow workers."

She walked off towards the restaurant and Louise followed her. Jessica was clearly an energetic girl. She barraged Louise with questions about her past, where she came from, what she had done before, and whether there were any men she liked. But Louise deflected all of them with mere grunts and sighs as she inwardly thought about the prospect of working. She had to admit, it was not something which she altogether relished.

As Jessica and Louise arrived, they looked around at the serving area. Approximately eight girls stood around the bar along with Scarron. The innkeeper struck fabulous pose after pose as they waited, and the girls politely clapped after each one. At this very moment, he had reached up to a high beam near the ceiling and had started to do some chin-ups, only to drop down when he saw his daughter.

"Ah, ma belle Jessica, how wonderful to see you back! And Louise, how beautiful and cute!"

He pranced up to Louise, and then draped a single, muscular arm around her shoulders.

"Everyone, I should like to introduce you to our newest worker today! This is Louise, and I'm sure she shall try her very best as a waitress! Welcome her, s'il vous plait!"

The rest of the girls cheerfully clapped, but Louise only looked at the horrifying thing which continued to stand next to her.

_I could run for the dressing room where my wand is. _She mused. _There has to be a Void spell which can deal with this. Explosion wouldn't be powerful enough._

Thankfully, Scarron danced over to the entrance and away from Louise. He raised a single hand to the door.

"And now, we open!"

He opened the door to the inn. Almost instantly, customers streamed in. They were almost invariably middle-aged men who had seen better days, but who through hard physical labor had managed to earn enough money for a good drink every now and then. Scarron began another series of poses and calisthenics, but most of the customers seemed to take no heed of it. Those that did simply pointed or gave a friendly laugh at him. One customer walked in with two of his friends waved at Scarron as he walked in.

"Scarron! You handsome devil! How much would you take if I gave you some actual clothes one of these days?"

Scarron sadly shook his head and waved his finger at the heckler.

"I am not sure what you are complaining about, mon ami." He cried back. "After all, I'm wearing more clothes than your mother was the last time I saw her."

The customers roared in approval, and even the heckler gave a small chuckle. But as Louise watched the scene, she couldn't believe it.

_Is this sort of thing…normal for commoners?_

"Hey, you!"

A commoner pointed over at Louise and she stared in confusion. What did he want?

"Hey, I'm asking you to come over here! I have an order for you!"

Oh. Right. Order. She was a waitress. That was the reason for this outfit and for why she was here at all. Louise walked over to the man, who promptly ordered some food and a bottle of wine. With a pad of paper which Scarron had given her, she took the order and rushed to the kitchen. A few minutes later, she rushed out of the kitchen, carrying what the customer had asked for.

"Here you go." Louise said as she laid out the food. The peasant smiled and nodded in appreciation, before he dropped a few gold coins into Louse's hand.

"Thank you very much" he said before he picked up a chicken leg and bit into it.

Louise took the coins and nodded to the man before she walked back to the kitchen. With her chest, a warm feeling swelled up. She felt good. Sure, what she had done just now was small and insignificant, a task which only the lowest of commoners was suited for. But she had accomplished it without any difficulties by herself.

"Hello! Little girl! Come over here!"

Louise was snapped over by her reverie as another commoner called her over. However, she saw as she walked over that he already had a meal and a bottle of wine with him.

"Can I help you, sir?"

The man waved over at his bottle of wine.

"I am feeling tired. Pour me a drink, little girl!"

"Uh, huh?"

Louise only managed those words. Since when was that part of a waitress's job?

_Oh well, _she thought. She picked up the bottle and tried to aim it at the cup. But it was heavy, and so Louise attempted to compensate by holding it a little closer to herself and away from the cup. But the gesture altered her aim, and so the wine gushed out far faster than she had anticipated.

"Argh!"

The man gave a shriek of surprise as the streaming wine knocked over the cup and spilled onto his clothes. He looked down at his pants which were now stained dark red and then back on Louise.

"Hey, serving girl, don't you have something to say?"

"What?"

It took Louise a moment to realize what he meant. But then she instantly lowered her head before him.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that, and it won't happen again!"

"Hmm" the peasant nodded. "If you're sure, then there's something you should do as a proper gesture of apology."

"What is it?"

A glint shone in the man's eyes as he stared at Louise.

"You're a cute girl. So let me touch your butt!"

"WHAT?"

Louise's face turned bright red at those words as she stammered in embarrassment. But the commoner gave off a shrug.

"I could ask you to touch your chest, but I am a gentleman. Besides, those are too small anyways. So to simply touch your butt should be a proper recompense, right?"

The peasant nodded in self-satisfaction, but then looked at Louise. The girl was looking down at the ground, her body trembling.

"What? It's not too bad! I mean, I must say I am a handsome devil. So here, sit down."

The man moved his left leg and patted his knee, indicating that he desired Louise to sit there. His mind bristled with anticipation of the excellent reward he would now receive after a hard day's work.

It did not go as planned.

"HOW DARE YOU INSULT A VALLIERE LIKE THAT? YOU WILL DIE, COMMONER!"

So with those words, Louise leapt on his knee. And his chest. And all over his body as she attacked the commoner in her anger and embarrassment. She pulled his hair and scratched and kicked and punched and-

"Stop it! Stop it!"

Another person showed up and lifted Louise up by her neck like she was a cat. Louise scratched and clawed at thin air, but then she was assaulted by the stench of perfume. There was only one person who could have that horrible, overpowering smell.

Scarron lifted Louise down and looked at the peasant.

"I am tres sorry, monsieur! Tres sorry! I promise that it shall not happen again!"

"There's no need to worry about it" the peasant murmured. "I liked it well enough."

Louise looked at the peasant she had attacked. He was dazed, which wasn't surprising. But he was also smiling. The expression he wore of dazed happiness made no sense at all.

"Father!"

Jessica dashed up to Scarron.

"Is everything all right here?"

"Oui" Scarron nodded. "There is nothing to worry about. Louise won't do that again, please?"

His eyes fluttered as he looked at Louise, but Jessica gave an abrupt cough.

"Father. Please, I'd just like to talk to Louise to make sure everything's all right. Could you take over the bar for a few minutes?"

"Mais of course! Anything for my lovely, most beautiful flower!"

With a jump of joy, Scarron jumped off to the kitchens. Louise watched him bound off, but then felt Jessica's hand clamp around her wrist.

"Come along."

She didn't say anything, but her grip was like an iron band. Without any further words, she dragged Louise away.

"Hey, Jessica, it was an accident, just an accident. It won't happen again!"

It was the opposite of last time. While Louise continued to talk and explain what had happened, Jessica said nothing, nor did she even look at Louise. She dragged Louise along past the kitchens and up a flight of stairs to what Louise realized were a set of rooms for customers. At last, she stopped in front of one door. Jessica released Louise's grip, opened the door, and gestured.

"Inside. Please."

Louise was confused by this entire process, but she nodded. She walked past Jessica and crossed the threshold…

Only to feel something slam into her from behind.

"Guh!"

That "something", she realized, was Jessica. The innkeeper pushed Louise onto the floor and Louise slammed onto the wooden surface in surprise. Before she could move, Jessica leapt onto her back and twisted Louise's right arm behind her.

"Ow, stop it!"

Louise would have cried out more, but then she felt something sharp and pointy graze the back of her neck. With her feet, Jessica kicked the door behind them closed.

"You yell, and this knife goes through your neck." She hissed. "Now, start talking."

"What?" Louise asked. "What are you talking about?"

"You want to act like that, fine." Jessica responded. "But what is Louise Francoise le Blanc de la Valliere doing here?"

"What? How did you know that?"

"Because you shouted out to the entire inn that you're a Valliere, you idiot." Jessica snarled. "Everyone else probably just took it as a prank. But not me. I have bigger stakes. I knew something was odd with you and that you were likely a noblewoman, but I didn't think that a Valliere would show up.

So I'll change the question. Did _she _send you to watch Father and me?"

"She?" Louise repeated.

"If you really are a Valliere, then you should know perfectly well who I'm talking about." Jessica responded. "And don't even think about pretending you're not one now."

Ultimately, Louise realized, it was true. There was only one woman in the Valliere family whom would realistically give any sort of orders.

"No." She said. "Mother didn't send me."

"So you really are the Duchess's daughter. But if she didn't send you, then what are you doing? A Valliere has no reason to work here."

Louise didn't want to answer. To tell someone who she had just met yesterday about her past was too humiliating. But then the knifepoint dug a little further into her neck.

"I'm waiting. I've never killed anyone before, and I don't want to. But I will if there's no other way to protect this inn and Daddy."

So she had no choice. Louise told her story to Jessica. The tale lasted for quite some time as she explained that her mother had kicked her out of the family and thus how her servant had found work for her. Jessica did not ease her grip on her arm in the slightest, but she listened the entire time without saying a word.

"I see." She said as Louise finished her story. "But I've got no way of knowing whether you're telling the truth."

"Y-you just have to believe me." Louse stated. "I'm not a Valliere. Not anymore."

"And I said that's not good enough. You have three minutes to give me proof or give me a way through which I could prove your story. If not…"

The knife pressed a little further into Louise's neck. She promptly began to think of a way to convince Jessica. She had to prove she wasn't a Valliere, even though the decision had occurred only yesterday. This meant that she had to get someone's word for it. Jessica wouldn't believe Matilda, and Louise couldn't talk to Karin. So that only left…

"Napoleon!"

"Huh?"

Louise tried to move her around to look at Jessica, but it proved unsuccessful. So she began to speak.

"Jessica, have you heard of Napoleon Bonaparte?"

It really was her only chance of proving anything. Fortunately, Jessica nodded.

"Daddy thinks he's a hero. So I've heard about him."

"Well, I know him." Louise gasped. "So, after today's work is done, my servant can go get him and he can tell you the truth. Would that work?"

Jessica said nothing for a while as Louise awaited her decision. But eventually, she moved away and removed the knife.

"We'll see. I promise that you won't leave this building at all unless you can get him to show up and talk to me."

With those words, she left the room. Louise gingerly picked herself up. For a second, she wondered whether she should chase Jessica down and ask her the reason for her actions, or even if she should try to run down to the dressing room and grab her wand. But it was probably better to wait, she reasoned. Jessica wouldn't try to kill her in front of a crowded inn, and she could wait.

…

The rest of the day in the Charming Fairy Inn passed by without much incident. Jessica had told Scarron that it would be for the best if Louise washed dishes alongside her. While Louise knew that Jessica had suggested it only to keep her by her side, she really possessed no grounds to object, and Scarron had happily accepted. Louise had proven to be a marginally superior dishwasher compared to her time as a waitress. She only broke every fifth dish and failed to properly wash another fifth, which meant that three out of every five times, she succeeded in properly doing her job. Compared to her short time as a waitress when she had upset one out of every two customers, it was an improvement.

Still, the hours continued to creep on. Jessica adamantly refused to talk with Louise and shut down attempts towards conversation by Louise with grunts just like Louise had earlier. As the sun began to descend, the stream of customers began to slow and the inn began to empty, but the piles of dishes seemed to continue without slowing down. Louise's hands had turned red and sore from being constantly dipped in out of the water, but she still continued with her work.

Eventually, at long last and to Louise's relief, the doors swung open and a blond-haired woman walked into the inn. But then Louise started. She was accompanied by another man, whose presence caused the heads of every single man who sat at their chairs eating food and drinking wine to swerve and stare.

"General Bonaparte."

"What is he doing?"

"Is he trying to get taxes or something?"

As the bar's patrons murmured amongst themselves, Napoleon walked up to the counter. He glanced at Jessica for a moment and then turned to Louise.

"So, I understand that Matilda's managed to keep you busy for the day. How's the work?"

Louise didn't bother to respond as she held aloft her hands for Napoleon to see. Then she drove them right back down into the sink as she continued to scrub.

"My, my." Matilda laughed. "Still, I'm glad to see you've been working hard. Jessica, how has she been?"

The black-haired girl looked up at those words as she stared at Matilda. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion and confusion as they ran all over Matilda. They then grew wider in recognition.

"That voice... Matilda, is that you?"

"It's good to see you as well, Jessica." Matilda said. "I hope you've watched over my master quite well."

"What?" Jessica gasped as she looked at Louise. "Hold on…you're Louise's servant?"

"She saved my life and has given me new opportunities. I owe her a lot."

Jessica stared at Matilda as if she had declared that she was from the moon. Her hand, which held a knife which had been slicing lettuce, trembled, as she then looked back and forth between Matilda and Louise.

Then with a clatter, the knife fell on the ground. Jessica collapsed on her knees and crawled over to Louise.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sososososorry for not believing you. Please forgive me, Louise!"

Without even the slightest sense of shame, Jessica literally touched her head to the floor and kowtowed before Louise. As Matilda and Napoleon watched the two with no small amount of confusion, Louise waved her hands.

"No, it's alright! Please, Jessica. But why did you act like that? Could you please tell me what happened?"

With great embarrassment, Jessica crawled back up to her feet.

"I received a letter from my cousin. We used to play when we were kids, but I hadn't seen her in years. But then she sent me this letter which asked if my inn could take care of two of her siblings. She said it was an emergency and that she needed an answer as soon as possible.

But the letter warned about the Vallieres. It said that they were in town and that they might seek to attack our inn or us because apparently she's doing something dangerous with them. I'll admit I didn't believe her but when you declared your name…"

Jessica trailed off, and Louise didn't know what to say. But then Napoleon cut in.

"What is your cousin's name?"

Jessica looked over at him.

"So you're Napoleon Bonaparte? Father's a great fan of yours. I'm sure he would offer you a free drink now and-"

"What is your cousin's name?"

"Well, it's Siesta" Jessica responded. "Why? Do you know her?"

…

The Charming Fairy was a clean and well-kept building, but its location still remained in the ninth area in the Lower quarters, one of the poorest areas of Tristania.

And as Jessica and Napoleon and Louise talked with one another, a carriage rode through the Upper Quarters. Here, the wider and more-organized streets were paved with cobblestone as opposed to the dirt tracks of the Lower Quarters.

Inside this carriage sat the Duke and Duchess of Valliere. They had just attended a reception which had honored the memory of those who had died at the Battle of Saxe-Gotha. Karin had clapped with approval as the speaker had regaled the crowd of nobles about the bravery which the soldiers whom had died with Henrietta had displayed. The reception had been a fine thing, filled with fine food and wine. Talk of the conference which would begin tomorrow had mostly fallen out of favor compared to the normal discussions over business or the war. But now inside the carriage, the Duke and Duchess began to make arrangements.

"Are you sure you want me around?" The Duke asked. "The funeral is over and I truly want to go back to managing the Valliere estate. The spring planting has to begin soon, after all."

"That sort of thing won't matter once we take the throne." Karin said. "Furthermore, our claim of the throne runs through the fact that you were Her Majesty's uncle. You should be there just to make it clear to the other nobles that you do truly desire it. Once that is done, I can deal and persuade the other nobles to support us. The Duke of Walloon did come up to me and offer his support during the reception, so getting the rest shouldn't be difficult.

Besides, I figure you might as well want to tell Siesta the good news."

"Are you sure about that, dear?" The Duke asked. "You were very adamant about keeping her siblings in the castle."

"She gave us another finished book before we left. I think I'm at the point where I can trust her to some degree. When you get back, you can tell the villagers that they will be permitted to let those children stay at their homes if they desire."

"Very well. Also, are you sure about your decision about Louise?"

"If we make it official that she's no longer a Valliere, then she can't dishonor the Vallieres." Karin said. "I'll accept that and let her live her miserable life."

Karin's thoughts turned to her former daughter for a moment, but she suppressed it. After all, she no longer had a reason to think about Louise. So she tried to distract herself by looking out of the carriage window.

"Huh?"

The Duke saw his wife notice as she glanced out there before she turned to him.

"Stop the carriage."

"What are you talking about?"

"I said, STOP THE CARRIAGE."

But Karin didn't even wait. Before the Duke could signal the carriage to stop, Karin jumped out of the carriage door with her wand in her hand. She looked back in the direction which the carriage had passed.

A young girl trembled fearfully as she prostrated herself before a nobleman. The nobleman had light blond hair that was almost white. He was a tall, thin man who towered both over the girl and he held a long thin cane which was adorned with a gigantic diamond at the top. Next to both of them, a hulking servant stood beside the nobleman as he looked at a box which lay on the street.

"Useless commoner!" He cried. "What did you think you were doing right running like that? You crashed into my servant here and wrecked what he was carrying!"

"I'm sorry, sir." The girl sobbed. "I didn't mean it. I just have important things to get done right now and-"

"Important? You? You're just a commoner. You commoner just scrape by while we nobles do the real important work with things you could never understand! Those potions that were in that box were worth more than you'll make in five years! How do you intend to repay that?"

The girl groveled even further into the ground. The nobleman looked down at the ground and then with a leer knelt down before her.

"You know, I can think of a way. All you would have to do is come along with me. How about that?"

WHAM.

Something hit the nobleman in the back of his head and he toppled forward on top of the girl. Both of them yelled in surprise, and the nobleman instantly sprang up to look behind him.

"Who threw that, you commoner scum! I'll…"

His sentence trailed off as he saw Karin and the Duke stand before him. The former folded her arms as she looked at the nobleman.

"Hello, William von Guldenhorf." Karin said. "I'm sure that will be considered repayment enough?"

The nobleman opened his mouth but then looked down on the ground. At his feet lay a pouch filled with coins which Karin had thrown at him. As he opened the pouch to verify its contents, Karin looked over at the girl.

"I think you should get going now."

The girl bobbed her head up and down in appreciation before she ran down the road.

"Come back here!" Guldenhorf shouted at the girl as he lifted his head from the coins. However, the girl paid him no heed and so he turned back to Karin.

"So what do you think you're doing here, Valliere? And these coins aren't nearly enough to pay for these potions! I had them imported all the way from Gallia!"

"Is that so?" Karin asked. "Well, shouldn't the second most important family in Tristain possess enough wealth to begrudge a lost potion or two? Besides, what did you think you were doing with that girl anyways?"

"What does that matter to you?" Guldenhorf spat. "I'm following your precious Rule of Steel, right? The commoners obey whatever the nobles tell them to do, isn't that how it goes?"

"It doesn't mean that we treat commoners like dung. Not that you would know given that half your peasants are starving these days."

Karin's voice dripped with venom as she looked at Guldenhorf. The tall, blond nobleman stared right back as his fingers continued to examine the coins. He then walked forward towards her, though he had to support himself with the cane due to a noticeable limp on his left leg.

"Is this how you intend to deal with affairs between nobles before the conference, Karin?" he hissed. "If you think you can go in that palace tomorrow and flaunt your power, you had better think again. In case you did not know, not everyone enjoys your sanctimonious speeches where you endlessly rant on about honor and the Rule of Steel."

"It's that honor which grants us the right to rule, Guldenhorf."

"Ha!" the nobleman laughed. "Nobility? Honor? That doesn't grant us the right to rule, it's our magic that does. You treat your commoners as if they're not swine and I do, but it makes no difference because of our magic!"

He chuckled again at the absurdity of Karin's declaration.

"Well, I think I'll get going now that you've ruined my fun and before you give me another speech. Farewell, Karin. I hope to have a pleasant conference tomorrow."

With those words, Guldenhorf limped off as he held the coin pouch, and his servant dutifully followed as he carried the dropped box. As they left, Karin grumbled as she watched his back.

"That man is everything that is wrong with nobility these days." She said to no one in particular. "They have no pride or honor."

Her husband nodded.

"That is true. But still, you and I will have to talk with him tomorrow. Guldenhorf is powerful and will likely do our best to annoy us throughout the conference."

"He won't succeed."

Karin turned around and walked back to the waiting carriage.

"Come, dear. We should be off. I'd like to get some rest before the nobles convene tomorrow. It's likely that the next few days will be some of the most important in Tristanian history."


	36. The Emperor: Chapter 9

"_When you surround your enemies, leave them an avenue of escape."_

Sun Tzu.

…

…

As a gust of cold wind blew across gray skies, Louise shivered as she followed Napoleon up the steps to the Tristanian palace. Tristania's main clock had just bonged eight times and the conference wouldn't start for another hour or so. Yet despite the early hours, Napoleon had insisted on dragging her out to the palace before any other nobles would show up.

She had worried that perhaps she would not be allowed in due to the loss of her status, but her fears were unfounded. The guard noted Napoleon's presence and without little more than an aside glance at her, wished him good luck as they entered the Main Hall.

The Hall had been renovated in preparation for the conference. Two long plain wooden tables had been placed parallel to each other alongside with a large number of chairs, but that was not the first thing Louise noticed. The throne had been removed from the center of the hall. In its place rested a smaller table along with four chairs. It wasn't difficult for Louise to understand why – that table was for Tristain's Great Families, including the one she had once belonged to. But she still didn't like it. Just because Her Majesty was gone and no one could sit upon for it now didn't mean they have to remove it. It was an ill omen to the conference which would determine the next ruler of Tristain, Louise thought as she shivered again out of foreboding.

"You're cold." Her partner sighed. "Just why did you insist on wearing your old school uniform to this? I told you. The olive uniform looks better on you and you wouldn't be shivering like that."

_He just didn't get it_, she thought. She wanted to wear something a little more formal to this conference. The olive uniform which Napoleon had procured for and which she had worn throughout the campaign was good clothing, but this uniform indicated her status as a mage and was an indication of pride even though she would never visit the academy again. Why couldn't Napoleon understand that, especially when he wore a dark blue military uniform as a symbol of his status?

Nevertheless, she said nothing. After looking at Louise a moment longer, Napoleon walked towards the two tables and she followed. As they got closer, Louise saw that in front of each chair, a small piece of paper lay on the table. Napoleon reached the table and looked down at the first piece.

"Napoleon Bonaparte." He read. "Of course. Since I am the only commoner here, I am the lowest ranked and the farthest away from where the throne would be. The Five Great Families must sit on the table by the throne, and the rest of the nobility will sit down here."

He looked over towards Louise.

"Well, I don't think there's a chair for you, and your mother would probably be upset if you did sit down. So you'll probably just have to stand up behind me for the conference."

Louise nodded. But then she walked around the table and sat down at the chair across from Napoleon.

"No one is using it right now." She stated before he could say anything. "But Napoleon, there's something I want to know."

"Yes?"

"Who are you loyal to?"

She had to know. The question had bugged her for days upon days at this point, ever since Napoleon had told her that he would have killed her had she asked him to kill Fouquet. He had declared such a shocking and outrageous statement without a hint of hesitation or remorse.

That moment had made it clear to Louise. Absolutely, shockingly clear. Napoleon was not loyal to her. Sure, she had known that. She had known that he would not be addressed as a "familiar" and that he rarely actually listened to her. But there was still a massive difference between not obeying the commands she gave and deciding to kill her.

But if he had merely been disloyal, she could have understood. She remembered when she thought of a familiar as an equivalent to a dog, and disloyal dogs existed. They were no problems. One merely trained into submission through any means necessary. Yet while he was not loyal, he was hardly disloyal either. He may have been willing to kill her if she had given that command, but then he risked his life to save her from her mother, the most powerful mage she knew. He may have hit her when she had broken down afterwards, but then he reminded her that he still believed that she was great.

She had wished for a powerful familiar that day in the academy and she had received one. But Louise had finally been forced to come to the conclusion which she should have realized ever since he had declared in front of her friends who he was what he had been. Even after all this time and all they had been through together, she still didn't completely understand him.

So she asked that question. And Napoleon leaned back in his chair and looked at her.

"I think you know the answer to that question very well, Louise."

She slowly nodded.

"It's to you, isn't it? You're fighting for your honor and your pride. You aren't fighting for me or for Tristain."

"Of course." Napoleon said. "My highest priority is to myself, Louise. There's nothing unusual or wrong about it when a leader does it."

"And where does Tristain fall? Are you telling me that you would be willing to destroy it?"

"You're worried I'll betray Tristain?"

Louise hesitated for a long moment at those words before she spoke

"Yes. You could go work for Gallia and Albion at a moment's notice if you're fighting for yourself, Napoleon. How do I know you won't?"

"I have no reason to." Napoleon responded. "Tristain is for better or worse my new home. No one destroys his own home for any reason.

Though to tell the truth, Louise, I do care for you more than I care for Tristain."

She couldn't help but blush at those words. H-how? How could he mock her like that? It was utterly maddening the way her partner just acted like this all the time! Besides…

"Are you talking about Louise Valliere or are you talking about Louise the Void mage?"

She threw the question down, the one which had continued to worry her. But Napoleon gave a short snort at those words.

"What kind of question is that? I told you that your power is you, and you are your power. There's no distinction between the two things that you asked me to compare."

"Yeah, there is!" Louise shouted. "I want to know if you care about me because of my power, or if you actually care about me."

"And I repeat myself once again. You are your power, Louise. You might as well ask me if I would still care for you if your heart was ripped out of your body. Void magic is just as important of a part of you."

Napoleon's eyes shone with amusement as he gazed at Louise.

"I told you on the day we met that if you summoned me, it was because you wished to be a great person. Yet while you have continued down that path, you still don't understand, Louise. You cannot let yourself be bound by rules and honor if you wish to become truly great, Louise. You should have realized that from your battle against Touraine. If you had fought him without the restrictions or petty limitations which you imposed upon yourself, you could have won. No, you would have won.

I've told you before and I'll tell you again, Louise. Embrace what you can do, and be proud of it. And do not hesitate to destroy those in your way between you and what you fight for."

But now I've answered a question of yours, so I want you to answer a question of mine. Are you going to be all right dealing with your mother?"

Louise nodded.

"You told me she won't try to kill me anymore, especially since I no longer dishonor the Vallieres since I've been kicked out. Anyways-"

But before Louise could speak, the door to the Main Hall opened. Napoleon quickly glanced in its direction before he turned to Louise.

"You should probably get up before the sight of you sitting in a nobleman's chair causes commotion," he said. "We can talk later."

Louise nodded and moved to stand behind him. But as she walked over, she wondered about what her partner had said. It was so different from what she had been taught by her mother. The Rule of Steel demanded obedience and loyalty, but it also required the greatest stoicism and repression of humanity's weaknesses and sins. She knew better than anyone else the mental and physical pain which Karin regularly subjected herself to test her resolve. That was why the Vallieres took great pride in their honor which helped them act nobly and heroically.

But when that honor meant that a mother should try to kill her own daughter, did that make it become noble or heroic? Napoleon clearly disagreed. No, she thought, that was wrong. It wasn't a question for him about whether such an action was noble or heroic. Such questions were utterly irrelevant to him. He had his own pride, of course, but he glorified in the deeds he accomplished for himself.

It was all too confusing for Louise to understand. But as she looked at Napoleon who stared straight ahead, a new question arose in her mind.

"I know what Napoleon fights for. But what is my reason to fight?"

…

The seats at the table began to be filled as the Tristanian nobility arrived. A few of them such as the Marquis of Touraine recognized and acknowledged Napoleon as he waited at his seat, though most of them didn't recognize him and some clearly looked askance at the presence of a commoner. However, not a single person who passed him said a word to him.

In fact, none of the nobles really spoke with each other. There was a rumbling of conversation, but even a child could understand how meager these attempts were. The noblemen would speak to each other about mundane topics like the weather for a few short sentences and then drop off, only to be followed by other nobles who mimicked the same futile attempts to talk. Almost every single member at the table carried worried and haggard expressions on their faces before the conference, while some just stared at the table by the throne as the four seats remained empty. Perhaps the only exception, Napoleon thought, was the man who sat across from him. This nobleman just stared directly at the empty table with a gaze not of confusion or exhaustion, but rather of resentment and anger.

As those last drips of conversation drifted away, the sound of a door opened could be heard behind a curtain near the throne. Cardinal Mazarin strode out, his long confident demeanor a significant contrast to the nobles. He gave a single, low bow before them. As many of the nobles began to stand up to reciprocate the gesture, the Cardinal raised his hand.

"Please, now is not the time." He stated. "I wish to introduce the Five Great Families of Tristain. I hope all of you fellows here may give ALL of them a warm and pleasant welcome. Then we shall pray to Brimir and the conference will start."

Mazarin ducked back behind the curtain. For several moments, nothing could be heard and the rest of the nobles stirred restlessly amongst themselves as the time passed. Napoleon in the meantime stared straight ahead as he seemingly ignored the entire hubbub.

At last, Mazarin walked back to the stage, but he was not alone. To his side, her expression stern and resolute stood…

"I would like to introduce the leader of the first family of Tristain, the Vallieres. Please allow me to welcome the honored Duchess Karin Desiree de la Valliere!"

The rest of the nobles politely clapped as Karin raised a hand in acknowledgment. Even Napoleon followed the example of the other nobles, though his applause lasted notably shorter compared to the others. As the noise finally died down, Karin sat down at the table and closed her eyes. This time, Mazarin did not leave for the back.

"The representative of the second family, the honored Duke of Guldenhorf."

As the nobles applauded once again, the Duke made his way onto the stage. He gave a great, low bow to the crowd of nobles as he sat down behind Karin.

"The representative of the third family, the honored Marshal Gramont, accompanied by his eldest son, Robert de Gramont."

While Karin and Guldenhorf were in their prime of their adult lives, the head of the Gramont family was a very old man. As Robert pushed him along in a wheelchair, Napoleon could tell that he was at least 70 and possibly even older since Tristanian magic easily outclassed the medicines from his world. His right hand, wrinkled and aged, lifted up slightly in appreciation as the nobility clapped. Robert de Gramont pushed him up to the table and then took a step back as the Marshal adjusted himself. Just as Louise stood behind Napoleon, so Robert did as he looked out onto the hall with a stern expression.

"The representative of the fourth family, the honored Duke of Walloon."

While the other three family members had been well-dressed in preparation for the conference, all of them paled in comparison to the next member. The Duke was a tall, well-built man, easily bigger than Guldenhorf or Karin. His large size was somehow accentuated by the bold red uniform he wore as well as the massive necklace holding a cross which hung from his neck. Jewels and rings adorned his fingers as he made his way to the table and his fine well-trimmed beard bristled as he took his place and leaned closer to Gramont.

As the nobility applauded, Napoleon leaned slightly backward towards Louise.

"Well, that's interesting." He murmured. "That's Martin's father. He said that his dad took the Brimir faith extremely seriously, but I guess vows of poverty aren't part of your religion."

Louise said nothing to his jibe and Napoleon turned his head around. She was looking at the stage with trepidation, but he could see that it wasn't at her mother. Her eyes were focused on the curtain, where the last family was set to come out from momentarily.

"Louise, do you know the fifth family?"

"Huh?"

His question seemed to snap her out of a trance.

"I said, do you know the-"

"The representative of the fifth family, the Duke of Wardes."

There was no applause, as another old man hobbled onto the stage. Marshal Gramont looked like a spring chicken compared to this person. His bald head and his entire face was gray and wrinkled and the cheeks under his eyes drooped and sagged; their appearance made his white beady eyes shine as they stared at the silent nobility. Even his clothing served to accentuate his age, as its plain colors of dark brown and green served as a shoddy contrast to the fancy and brightly-colored clothing of the other great families.

"What is he doing here?" One nobleman yelled. "How can we trust a traitor's father at a place like this?"

No one cheered or reprimanded the heckler. The only sound that broke the uncomfortable silence within the hall was the tap of the large wooden cane that the old man held in his right hand as he made his way to the table. As he finally took his seat and rested his arm on the table, a single white rat dashed out of his robes and onto the table.

"How dare you, you yellow-bellied cur!" he snarled. "I am the Duke of Wardes. I was fighting dragons and trolls before you were born. I've forgotten more about magic than a half-assed noble like you would learn in fifty lifetimes. So the next time you waggle your tongue about things which you know nothing about, I'll slice it in half and feed it to Lady here! And that includes talking about my son, may Brimir damn him to hell!"

It wasn't just the words. Spittle flecked from the old man's tongue as he snarled at the nobleman in his anger. The nobleman looked away from the Duke of Wardes and towards the table in his surprise.

"That's right, you little pup." Wardes hissed. "Cower away. For Brimir's sake, you cried that I shouldn't be here? You should get out, you pathetic pile of miserable-"

"Wardes, please!"

The Duke looked to his right as Cardinal Mazarin made his way towards him.

"We have a conference here for all of the nobility. Please, forgive him for Brimir's sake."

Wardes stared back at the Mazarin for a few moments and then gave a short chuckle. Napoleon saw the gaps within his teeth as he did so.

"Kahahahahaha. All right, all right, Mazarin. No need for you to panic. Now, let's get the prayers sorted out, shall we?"

…

…

The Tristanian palace was easy to observe from the roof of Tiffania's new orphanage, Fouquet observed. It's not like there was any reason to really look at it. If her master ended up blowing up the castle, she would likely hear the commotion anyways.

Still, everything seemed to be working out well, with the exception of Jessica. Napoleon had interrogated her for what seemed like hours when she had explained what she had done to Louise as well as the news about her cousin. When Fouquet had contacted Scarron about the possibility of work, she hadn't expected things would become that bad, but that misunderstanding had been cleared up. She had told Scarron that he wouldn't be able to rely on Louise on a daily basis, but the innkeeper had nodded and flexed some more muscles to show his understanding. Louise had been a good worker, he claimed, and he would be happy to see her back any time.

But even ignoring what had happened there, Fouquet had plenty to worry about. Louise may have saved her from certain death, but now her concerns lay about how to protect her as well as the fact that she knew she would have to deal with Wardes and Sheffield eventually. And with her master's loss of status, these problems just became all the more important.

Fortunately, she wasn't the only one protecting Louise. Her familiar was peculiar, but he was devoted to her. Fouquet could tell that he did care about Louise in her own way. Last night, he had talked with her after Louise had fallen asleep in the tent and had made certain arrangements. She would check on that later, probably when the sun rose higher in the sky.

Creak.

Fouquet's hand instinctively darted to her wand even though she knew what the sound was. She had scaled the walls of the orphanage to reach the roof in order to avoid unnecessary attention, but there was a door encased into the ground which served as a means of access for an ordinary person. As Fouquet watched, a young boy with red hair pushed up the door and rolled onto the ground as he clenched a large stick. As he slowly stood up, he looked directly at her for a few seconds. But before Fouquet could wonder to do, he gave a friendly smile.

"You're the nice lady who was with Big Sis Tiffania, right?"

As she nodded, she noted that she recognized the kid. He had been at Tiffania's orphanage and she remembered his loud mouth above all.

"Your name was Gim, right? What are you doing up here?"

"I wanted to explore." the child said. "I don't like this new place. It's too dirty and there are no woods or lakes to play in."

Fouquet stowed the wand back in her cloak and then tossed something at the boy. He instinctively caught it and looked at a small white ball.

"It's candy, Gim. Mind if I ask you something?"

The boy instantly popped it into his mouth. A happy smile of delight popped into his face as he sucked on the hard treat.

"So, how is Tiffania doing these days?"

"Huh?" Gim asked. "I saw you here yesterday, miss. You were in the orphanage for a long time yesterday and you talked with Big Sis. Couldn't you have asked her then?"

"That's true." Fouquet said. "Big Sis seems happy. She worries about you children all the time, but she told me that she's doing fine and you're being fed and cared for. In fact, I think she mentioned you."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Weren't you the kid who ran outside at two for the morning screaming that you were going to hunt down bandits?"

The boy blushed in embarrassment and waved his stick around.

"It's true!" He said. "There are bandits everywhere, and they'll threaten Big Sis. I want to protect them. That'll be my first step to becoming a great warrior!"

"I see, I see. But I want to hear what you think about Tiffania. How is she doing these days?

The boy thought as he sat down and sucked on the candy for a while. In the meantime, Fouquet clambered up on a small wall which surrounded the roof.

"Big Sis is happy with us. She plays with us and she's still Big Sis. But the other ladies don't talk to her a whole lot. They pointed at her ears a lot when we arrived, but I don't get why. Her ears are really pretty, right?"

Fouquet twitched at what he had said.

"Yes. Yes they are. But are they mean to her?"

The boy leapt up to that question.

"Of course they're not!" Gim nodded. "Those ladies will never be mean to Big Sis. If they do, then I'll fight them as a Hero of Justice and make them apologize. Then me and my friends will get together and make them play with Big Sis and they'll all eat cakes and honey! No one will harm Big Sis, not as long as I have this!"

He waved the stick around haphazardly and began to dash around the roof.

"I found this from the woods back where I used to live, and kept it ever since! It's just a stick, but lady, just you watch! Someday I'll make a legendary sword that will defeat evil with it!"

He puffed up with pride as he gazed upon the stick and imagined the great deeds he knew he would accomplish, but then realized that he had swallowed the candy as he had ran around the roof.

"Hey, Big Sis," The boy cried as he turned around. "Do you have any more candy-"

There was no one on the roof. The boy blinked in confusion at the vanished thief.

…

"Amen."

The final prayers to Brimir concluded and the nobles opened their eyes. Mazarin stood in front of the table holding the five families and opened his eyes.

"I do not intend to personally discuss my own thoughts on who should take the throne." He said. "I should like to leave it to you nobles and only intervene when necessary. Still, perhaps I could start things off by suggesting-"

"Cardinal Mazarin. There is nothing to discuss. I, Karin de la Valliere, am the rightful ruler of Tristain."

The Duchess stood up and her hands hit the table as she continued to statement.

"My husband is the brother to Her Majesty's father, so we possess the proper bloodline which no other noble family here owns. We possess the appropriate wealth, power and prestige. I am not here to negotiate. I am here to declare that the throne belongs to my husband and me."

The nobles murmured amongst themselves at the strength of Karin's declaration, but then one of them stood up from the lower table.

"If you claim your bloodline through your husband, Duchess Valliere, then why is he not here?"

"The Duke has an estate to manage." Karin said. "He wished to return home to manage it. But I can assure you that I can speak for him and the Vallieres at this conference."

Guldenhorf snorted in response and Karin looked over at him.

"Would you care to say something, Guldenhorf?"

"Nothing much, nothing much." He responded. "But doesn't that say something about your husband's desire to lead that he's perfectly willing to let you handle the responsibility?"

"I understand your ears may be plugged with your ego, Guldenhorf, but I have already stated that my husband and I would rule jointly and that I can speak for the family. I believe that it is important to get a decision down fast so that we can deal with other pressing matters and I am the most credible candidate out there."

The nobleman who sat across from Napoleon then stood up.

"Credible?" He cried. "Of course, you're credible from that angle. You're simply discussing all of the qualifications which make you the best queen! But you are not discussing all of the important angles!"

"And what are these important angles, Count Noyon?" Karin scornfully asked. "Revenge for your son?"

"No. I ask how we know that we can trust you!" He said. "True, the Vallieres possess wealth and power, but I consider that a problem! I know you can't comprehend this with your Rule of Steel which does not allow for human feelings, but we nobles have rights! We need to have assurances that you won't just trample on what we own and when you are the Queen of Tristain."

"I've already shown that I treat those who serve me well" Karin stated. "I can confidently say that the commoners love me more than they love Guldenhorf, for example."

"I don't care about Guldenhorf or commoners, I care about you! And there's a huge difference between you and Guldenhorf anyways. If your lands are added to the lands which belong to the crown, the Valliere family would own over half of Tristain! You would be able to trample over all of us if we united against some tyranny you committed and I can't accept that."

"Enough!"

Karin had opened her mouth to respond, but then Marshal Gramont abruptly stepped in.

"Why are you stressing about such matters, Noyon? It does not matter whether Karin may have the potential to become a tyrant. When those matters occur, then we may deal with it. This conference is to discuss who will be the next ruler of this country, above all. And the bloodline means that Karin is a credible candidate."

"I am not denying that, I'm simply pointing out that she threatens us all if she was to rule Tristain! Including you, Gramont!"

Gramont began to chuckle at those words, but instead he began to cough loudly. As the crowd watched, he continued to hack away at his throat for some time. Even as he did so, Robert did nothing as the group of nobles waited for his father to finish clearing his throat.

"Then who is a credible candidate to rule, Noyon? Because the fact is that the next monarch will come from one of us five families. This is something which I think you cannot deny."

He looked over to his right, towards Wardes. The old man did not look back at Gramont. He seemingly paid more attention to Lady than to the conference as he watched it scurry about the table.

"The Duke of Wardes currently lacks an heir and no one will trust him with the throne after what his son did. I do not desire the throne and personally would rather give it to the Vallieres. The Gramonts and the Vallieres have been allies for generations. Furthermore, we are a family who follows the law, and the fact that the Valliere Duke currently possesses the proper bloodline is good enough for me.

So, Duke Walloon, Duke Guldenhorf. Do either of you wish to claim the throne?"

The former shook his head.

"I must decline. I do not possess a case for the throne which is better than Karin's. Furthermore, I have received no sign from Brimir that I should take the throne, so therefore I do not desire it. I will only do what he commands me to do."

Gramont nodded and then looked at Guldenhorf.

"Guldenhorf. What do you say?"

The duke shrugged his shoulders and shook his head before he stood up.

"I say that you are once again attempting to frame the issue in your own way, Gramont. But let me ask you a question. Is no king a worse alternative than a bad king?"

"That is ridiculous!" The Marshal spat. "To have no king is the worst thing of all! And why don't you answer my question first?"

"I don't need to. The fact is that despite his puny peerage, Noyon is correct. Suppose we make Karin the Queen. What happens if she decides with all of her power that she would destroy us all? If you combine the power of the Valliere estate and the royal lands she would receive, she could do it even if we all united against her! I fear a potential tyrant far more than I fear a country with no king!"

The crowd murmured amongst themselves at those words. Guldenhorf smiled at the commotion he had caused, before another voice from the High table spoke up.

"So why don't you spell it out clearly, Guldenhorf?"

Karin did not bother to stand up. Even as she gazed at Guldenhorf with scorn, she maintained an erect and proper posture on her chair.

"You think I will become a tyrant if I take the throne?"

"It's not a matter of 'will you'" Guldenhorf responded as he turned to her. "We simply have to make sure that the possibility of you becoming a tyrant is not merely dependent on your whims or moods or-"

"Did you just say 'whims', Guldenhorf? Are you telling me that I, Karin Desiree de la Tristain, one who follows the ideal of the Rule of Steel, will make my decisions through whims? Why don't you call me a tyrant to my face, you sniveling coward!"

It was an impressive sight. Karin's body language did not change in the slightest nor did she still look at Guldenhorf. But everyone in the hall could feel her anger both in her voice and in the very air they breathed. Nevertheless, Guldenhorf did not flinch in the slightest. He stood up from his chair and pointed his finger at Karin.

"Behold, my fellow nobles! THIS is your queen. This would be your future ruler. Someone who lets her rage blind her when her honor is insulted. That is who you would let control over half of Tristain territory and threaten to dominate all of us if she was so inclined.

Are you telling me that that is what you desire?"

About half of the other nobles began to clap towards Guldenhorf's statement, but the rest did nothing. One of them, a well-fed man, stood up.

"And you still haven't provided an alternative, Guldenhorf! What do you propose? Because your proposal of no king at all is ludicrous! The people will never support it! I don't care what you state about the viability of Karin being the Queen, as long as there is no alternative, she should be the ruler. And even if you have concerns about the viability of her rule, that isn't relevant to us, because her husband possesses the blood. That is all that matters!"

"Oh, be quiet, Grandple." Guldenhorf snarled. "As I said, no king is better than a bad king. Tristain may have had idiot rulers and vicious rulers. But we have been blessed not to have a vicious idiot for a ruler."

"What did you call Karin?" Gramont shouted.

As the conference hall degenerated into a shouting match, Mazarin stood up and waved his hands to calm the angry nobles down. But it was hopeless. All of the nobles at the High Table with the exception of Wardes stood up and began to argue with each other, and Wardes seemed content to simply watch his rat. In the meantime, the rest of the nobles also began to argue.

"What about an assurance?"

A loud voice broke through the din, one which few people recognized. Guldenhorf looked around in confusion and so did Marshal Gramont. But Karin did not. She looked directly at the person who spoke, the person who had challenged her in the graveyard. As Napoleon stood up from his table, he looked directly at the nobles at the High Table.

"How about this?" He suggested. "Karin becomes the queen, and in exchange she swears before she takes the crown to enact certain reforms to limit her power and prevent a potential tyranny."

Everyone took a long, slow, look at Bonaparte and his suggestion. At last, Guldenhorf spoke up.

"What sort of reforms?"

"How should I know?" Napoleon said as he shrugged his shoulders. "I'm just a commoner. Surely you cannot expect me to be able to manage your affairs. I'm sure you could figure something like that out."

For a few moments, no one spoke. But then Touraine shrugged his shoulder.

"That sounds like a good plan, makes everyone happy. Perhaps Karin could break up, say, half of her estate and distribute it to us or even the commoners? Or she could swear not to enact any laws which threaten us for two years, so we could have time to adjust to the new regime? I'm just throwing out suggestions."

A murmur of approval ran through the crowd as they discussed it. Guldenhorf looked visibly displeased, but after looking at the rest of the crowd, he leaned over and whispered to Gramont who sat to his right. After he finished, he stood up.

"I believe that is a sound plan. Perhaps we could adjourn for a short break and then we could get together to craft it? How would that work?"

"No."

Two voices spoke up. And at that moment, Karin stood up from her chair.

"I will not accept a compromise. I will not accept anything which would impinge on the authority of the royal family. Would you have demanded this from Princess Henrietta if she had the amount of lands, Guldenhorf? No, you wouldn't have. Because you thought you could manipulate her. But now that you're dealing with someone who possesses the moral integrity and the strength to resist you, you think you can change the rules to weaken me?

Follow the Rule of Steel for a change, Guldenhorf, and you might understand why I will not accept this."

"I agree with Karin's sentiments." Gramont stated. "I do not desire to change the law unless it is absolutely necessary. And this is not the time. Guldenhorf, I tell you, Karin will not become a tyrant."

"And you have no way to assure that!" one nobleman yelled. "That is the key thing, knowing rather than hoping that our lands or power will remain secure. I want an assurance! If Karin can't accept that, she has no right to rule!"

"Her bloodline determines it!" Gramont shouted. "Her family has the blood of the royal family flowing through their veins, blood which has been blessed by Brimir! And now you want to enact further binds on it?"

"I must agree." Walloon said. "The Vallieres has been chosen by Brimir. There is no need for an assurance."

"You're just saying that because you owe her money, Walloon!" another nobleman yelled.

Walloon's face turned a bright shade of red and he sputtered for several seconds. But before he could retaliate, Karin stood up.

"I've had enough of discussion over compromises or assurances. The facts are these. Our country must select a new ruler as rapidly as possible. I am the only credible candidate for the throne, as not even the Duke of Guldenhorf has chosen to name himself as one. And I will not accept any assurances, negotiations, or anything like that. Doing that in the aftermath of Henrietta's death disrespects her name and it dishonors the name of the Valliere. Perhaps there can be discussions after I become the Queen of Tristain, but I will not accept prerogatives before I take the throne!"

"Don't you get it? We can't trust you!" Guldenhorf shouted. "An assurance after you take the throne is worthless! You probably wouldn't listen to us anyways afterwards and would just destroy everything we nobles have worked for!"

"It is not a matter of personal favors. It is a matter of the Law." Karin flatly stated. "When there is a new ruler to Tristain, then we can discuss changes. I will not discuss such a thing beforehand."

She then left the table and began to walk to the door at the back. Mazarin ran up to her.

"Please, Karin, you should stay. For the sake of all of us."

"I am sorry, Cardinal." Karin said. "I have been insulted and ridiculed despite the fact that I am the only one with a realistic claim to the throne. I have had enough for today."

She then looked out at the crowd and raised her voice.

"I am leaving for the day. If you wish to acknowledge me as the ruler of Tristain, come to my room in the High Quarter. Those who don't come will not be my friends when I am the ruler of this country."

Without any further words, she left the room. The Hall remained in silence as they thought about her words. But then Marshall Gramont turned and waved his hand to Robert, who walked up and grasped his chair.

"I must agree with the Duchess. I shall be heading over there to give her my fealty." He rasped. "I advise all of you to do the same as soon as possible."

"Are you serious, Gramont?" Guldenhorf shouted. "She refuses to negotiate with us. She refuses to treat us as equals at all. She acts like she's already the ruler of Tristain of this country and this greed and arrogance is what you support? If you're that loyal to the Vallieres, why don't you hand your estate over to them already?"

"Greed? Arrogance? It's your arrogance that's causing you to act like this, Guldenhorf! Karin's right. If Henrietta was alive, you wouldn't be doing this. Quit thinking about yourself and start thinking about the good of the country."

"And learn that the good of the nobility IS the good of the country, Gramont!"

The old man said nothing in response but simply looked behind him and nodded. Without a word, Robert wheeled him out of the room. As Gramont left, Walloon stood up.

"I believe in Karin as our new ruler. May Brimir's blessings go with her."

As he followed Gramont out of the exit, the rest of the nobles began to discuss amongst themselves what they were to do.

"What are we supposed to do?" Asked one. "Karin has the Walloons and the Gramonts behind her. Isn't that enough? Shouldn't we just accept her as our new Queen?"

"That's wrong!" Noyon said as he shouted. "That's not what it's supposed to be like. We can't accept this"

"Oh, be quiet, Noyon. You're just bitter because she killed your crazy son. I've had it. I'm going to support her."

As one nobleman began to stride out of the hall, another stood up after him. And then another, and then another. A crowd of nobleman began to make their way out of the hall as their minds acquiesced to their new ruler.

But then a harsh, ancient voice cackled over the room.

"Kahahahahaha! Oh, are the nobility of this generation so young and foolish that they would agree to a couple of shouted demands like dogs?"

The nobleman turned around and looked up at the stage from which the voice had come from. Hobbling on his cane, the Duke of Wardes slowly descended down the stairs with a devilish grin on his face.

"What are you talking about, Wardes?" one nobleman cried. "Are you saying that you do not support Karin taking the throne? For Brimir's sake, I'm surprised that you even know what's going on since you kept watching that foul beast of yours."

"I would take care not to insult Lady." The old man said. "She is far more powerful than you think she is, and it's not exactly a surprise to say that she's smarter than most of you."

"Why you-"

"And about your second question. What does that matter?" Wardes interrupted as he finally reached the lower table. "None of you trust me because of my son. If I said I opposed Karin taking the throne, over half of you would instantly go support her.

But let me ask you young children a question. Many of you seem to think that Karin should become Queen. But what does it mean to be one?"

"What are you talking? It means she is the ruler and runs this country. Why are you asking such a silly question?"

The old man laughed again, and both of his hands grasped the handle of his wooden cane as it repeatedly hit the floor.

"Kahahahahaha. Oh, you have been taught well by your private tutors, you little dogs. But no, that is not the answer. A Queen does not run a country. That fool Cromwell ran Albion when we defeated him, but none of you called him a King. A King or Queen is someone who LEADS the country and respects your wishes.

Karin has done no such thing. She does not even look upon you as people to negotiate with, and that will be true when she is a queen thanks to her Rule of Steel. And you are nobles. She considers herself far superior to you and refuses to even recognize your right to petition. And you sniveling worms are willing to let her rule?"

The crowd of nobles murmured amongst themselves, but then Grandple gave a loud grunt.

"I'm not listening to your lies, Wardes. You may be old, but you are not wise! Karin will be. She has the blood of the Vallieres and is married to the Royal Family. She helped me remove Osmond after he let my son become a vegetable when Fouquet attacked. That's more than you ever did!"

Without any further words, Grandple pushed the doors open and stormed off. But while the other nobles looked longingly in his direction, none of them took the step to leave.

"That's true." Wardes mused. "Valliere is respected by many of you. And you do not respect me.

But let me ask you a question. If I were to become King, and asked one of you to lick my shoes, all of you would refuse. Your pride as a nobleman meant that none of you would ever do such a thing.

Can you honestly say that would remain the same if Karin became Queen? With the power that backed her up, as well as her immense strength?"

More silence followed that question as the nobles pondered it amongst themselves. But then they saw Guldenhorf walk toward the crowd of nobles which had assembled by the door.

"So what are you proposing then, Wardes?" He asked. "Shall we ask to negotiate with Karin again? You know her as well as I do. She will not come back to the negotiating table. She has declared so, and Karin keeps her promises."

"My, my, my." Wardes chuckled. "Isn't it obvious, Guldenhorf? I thought you of all nobles would have figured it out by now. If Karin won't come back to the negotiating table…

Then _make_ her do so. With force, if necessary."

A stunned silence descended over the crowd at Wardes's implications.

"Are you suggesting war? Now? So soon after our fight with Albion?" whispered one nobleman.

Wardes merely shrugged.

"We fight to protect our country and honor, do we not? How is the exhaustion of this country relevant under those circumstances, then?"

Without listening for a response, the old man turned around and began to move away from the door.

"Karin said that she would be staying in the High Quarter. I, on the other hand, will be resting in my villa at the outskirts of town. I know you all know where it is.

If you are interested in licking the boots of a tyrant, then so be it. Go to the High Quarter. If you are interested in talking with me some more about the actual future of this glorious country, then please come to my home. I shall serve you with the best hospitality."

As he walked away, the nobles began to discuss amongst themselves. Even Guldenhorf looked nonplussed as he glanced between Wardes and the nobles. Eventually, he settled for the nobles, and his harsh, rough voice could be heard among the jabbering crowd.

Wardes in the meantime continued to hobble away before he stopped in front of the table and Napoleon. His white eyes flickered on Louise for a moment before they settled on the Emperor, who in turn moved his eyes towards the old man. The two slowly smiled at each other, though Louise could feel the danger that radiated from their presence.

"Very impressive, old man." Napoleon said. "You started talking before I could by half a second. Though I do not desire to imitate that laugh of yours."

"Kahahahahaha." Wheezed Wardes. "Well met, General Napoleon Bonaparte. I have heard about your exploits as well as the fact that you would be attending this conference. Still, Mazarin gave quite the impressive speech about you at the parade."

"That is true. I am assuming that you expect me to be at your villa tonight?"

"You were just analyzing the situation throughout this conference, General." Wardes observed. "I do hope that when you are at my humble home tonight, that you will be much more active."

Napoleon gave a small nod to his words. Wardes returned the gesture but then hobbled closer to Louise.

"Hello, Louise." He said. "I hope you remember me? It was a long time ago when you played in the garden with dear Jacques."

The old man gave a kindly, grandfatherly smile, but Louise only paled in his presence. She noticeably looked away from Wardes as she responded.

"Y-yes, y-yes sir. I do remember you as well. I did not see you often in those visits, however. You were most frequently in the study and so I talked with your wife and…"

"My son, Louise. Jacques will always be my son, regardless of what I tell the other nobles."

Wardes said nothing, but he continued to stand in front of Louise. She fidgeted her fingers together, and anyone there could easily tell that at that particular moment, she just wanted to disappear.

"A-are you angry?" She finally asked.

"Angry?" Wardes replied, the smile never leaving his face. "About what?"

"W-well, I was his fiancé. Your son's fiancé. But then he did, well….that… and I'm wondering if you might be mad at me. Perhaps I could have stopped him if I talked to him or something or…"

Louise stopped abruptly in embarrassment as her words tumbled over themselves. But Wardes said nothing. He shook his head and gave a deep sigh.

"I'm sorry, Louise. I don't think you understand."

Wardes's hands gripped the cane as he leaned a little further towards the girl.

"I…**hate **the Vallieres. I hate every last one of them. We were allies for generations, the Wardes and the Vallieres. You should have learned that, right? We stood by and watched that family rise to greatness, while we were left with the scraps. But we did not complain. **I** did not complain as the patriarch of the family. I trusted in their protection and of the benefits of our partnership. And that partnership was going to culminate between the marriage between you and Jacques as our families united.

But when Jacques betrayed us, betrayed me and everyone jumped on the name of the Wardes and splattered it in the mud, what did your mother do, Louise? She did nothing. It is true that she never slandered me. But your mother said that our family was strong enough and could take of such silly attacks and did nothing to defend our reputation, our names! And this is from the woman who tried to kill you over her name!"

Wardes's right hand slowly lifted up from his cane and slowly extended towards Louise.

"And I don't trust her, you know? Wardes was my son. My only son. He had everything. I still don't understand why he betrayed Tristain. As far as I'm concerned, the Vallieres are to blame for the marriage. You are to blame. Perhaps you said something that wounded his heart or filled him with jealousy?"

"No, that is not true!" Louise cried. "I'm sorry, Duke, but I have not met your son in years. I didn't do anything."

"You have no way to prove you didn't."

Louise gulped at those words and Wardes leaned a little more forward.

"I don't want to rule, Louise." He hissed. "I am too old, and I have no heir. But I want retribution and justice. Karin may be a good queen, but I don't care. I want revenge. I want to kill every single Valliere and go up to the Duchess and watch her in despair. And I will let her know that I, Gilford Wardes, will have my revenge."

He raised his hand up to Louise's cheek, but she swatted it away with her left hand. Her right hand grabbed her wand and pointed it at Wardes. The rest of the nobles ignored the scene as they discussed among one another, but Napoleon watched next to them, his expression that of detached amusement even as his left hand dangled near his saber. Louise and Wardes stood like that for some moments, neither moving an inch.

"You have good spirit and a strong will." Wardes finally said. "You will be a factor in the years to come, little Louise. But don't underestimate me. Your Void Explosions are powerful, but they will not kill me."

Lady popped out from his neck as he said those words. But then the old man once again gave a grandfatherly smile.

"Besides, you have nothing to worry about. Even if you were my son's fiancé, you are no longer a Valliere. I have no quarrel with you."

"That doesn't matter." Louise said.

"Ah?"

As the old man looked at Louise, Louise stared right back at him. Her eyes blazed with a quiet fury as she continued to hold her wand.

"I'm no longer a Valliere. I'm not sure what I think about most of them at this point. I don't know whether I hate mother, or love her. I can't tell at this point.

But I DO know this. You will not touch Cattleya. You will leave her out of any plans for revenge you have, do you understand me?"

Wardes said nothing. He continued to gaze at Louise, but then his eyes flitted back toward the crowd of nobles who continued to talk by the door. It had grown smaller during the process, while some had left, whether to pledge their loyalty to Karin or otherwise.

"We shall see." He finally said. "We can discuss this later when you come tonight. I look forward to a good conversation."

He tapped his cane on the floor and Lady slid back down his neck. Then with a final nod of acknowledgment, he hobbled away from Napoleon and Louise.

…

"I can't believe her."

Eleanor huffed as she walked along the hallways of the castle. Her right hand clenched her wand and her left a set of keys. All the same, she could conceal the irritation on her face. Jerome had been reluctant to provide her the set of keys necessary to enter the library, but she had insisted and he had finally complied. She would deal with it at last and prove herself. She was the best researcher in Tristain, the one who could read magical artifact after magical artifact. There was no way she could not fail to help Siesta. Sure, she had failed to help Siesta, but the more she thought about it, the more and more she found it ridiculous. She could only read due to some special blood she possessed? Ha!

She walked along the hallways but as she walked by the entrance she stopped and looked at the doorway.

"Cattleya." She asked. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in bed?"

Eleanor's younger sister raised her hand to her mouth and coughed for a moment.

"I'm feeling a little stronger now." She said. "Besides, I wanted to say goodbye."

"Goodbye?"

The pink-haired girl shook her head and gave a soft smile.

"Oh dear, Eleanor. Didn't you hear? Siesta's siblings are going away."

"Huh." Eleanor said. "So they're heading down to the nearby village?"

"No. Siesta told me that she found a family member in Tristania who was willing to look after them and they'll head over there. She just sent them off."

Eleanor nodded. For a moment, she thought about asking Cattleya where Siesta had gone so that the maid could see how she could help her out, but she changed her mind. She guarded those books preciously, and would probably freak out somehow if she told Siesta that she was going in that library.

"They were nice kids." She mused. "Very energetic."

"That's true." Cattleya responded. "I wonder how well they'll do in a city like Tristania. They lived in the village of Tarbes their whole life before they came here, and it's such a difference between a peasant village and a city.

Still, they have their sister's love, so I'm sure they'll be fine. She spent a lot of time fussing over them as they left and hugged them repeatedly."

"How are they going to get there anyways? Tristania is a long way. You can't have a couple kids walk there."

"I asked her that. Siesta told me that a friend got a wagon for her. It was a really big wagon, but she put a lot of stuff in it. I took a look inside. It was filled with just all sorts of furniture and other tools which the peasants in the village gave to her."

"Yeah." Eleanor softly said. "It's nice to have siblings."

Cattleya stared at Eleanor for a moment as the conversation quieted down and then giggled.

"You're thinking about her, aren't you?" she said.

"Who? Siesta?"

"No, silly." Cattleya responded. "Our sister."

Eleanor stiffened for a moment at those words.

"We don't have another sister, Cattleya."

"Oh stop it." The pink-haired girl said. "Of course we do. She's still our sister, and I don't care what mother says."

"What are you talking? She's our mother. She and Father run this family. We can't disobey her!"

"Does that include the fact that she keeps telling you to quit your magical research and get married?" Cattleya teased.

Eleanor flushed at those words before she looked away.

"That is… over the line, Cattleya. And that's well, different."

"Oh, come on. No, it's not."

"Yes it is." Eleanor snapped. "And this conversation is over."

"But-"

"Over!"

With those words, she hurriedly walked out of the hall. Cattleya watched her sister leave and then called out after her.

"You can't deny the truth, Eleanor! I know it hurts, I know you have to choose! We have to choose! But don't deny your own sister!"

Eleanor covered her hands over her ears as she walked back down the hall. She was annoyed now. Really annoyed. She just needed to get to the library and read some books and think. That was what was important now.

After a time frame that felt far too long, she finally arrived. No one was in the hallway and she quickly grasped the door. Confirming that it was locked, she grasped the library key and fit it in the lock before she swung it open.

The lights were off, but sunlight streamed into the room. With a small feeling of triumph at finally accessing this room, Eleanor walked inside and-

"What?"

-looked in the room.

"What? Wait, is this a mistake? I'm in the library, right?"

She looked at the scene in front of her in confusion.

"What's going on? What happened here? And what is-"

She looked down at a table. A small notebook lay on it. And beside it…

"Oh, dear Brimir."

That was why. Everything made sense. Siesta guarded this room jealously for a reason.

"But…how did she do this? There's no way, there's no way…"

Her voice trailed off and her eyes widened.

"That's how. She…impossible. But…"

Eleanor stopped again. But as she pondered, as she thought, she looked up as she felt a presence in the room.

"Now, this was certainly a surprise." Siesta lilted as she walked in the library. "I thought you would go to Jerome eventually, Eleanor. I just didn't think it would be this fast."

The blonde-haired girl whipped around towards Siesta and pointed her wand directly at her. Siesta stopped in response, though she continued to smile as she looked back at Eleanor. The scar on her left cheek seemed to gleam in the darkened room.

"Not that it makes a difference anyways, Eleanor. You're too late. I'm already finished. Not you, not your mother, not Napoleon, and not his master. Though honestly, I guess now you do become a serious problem if you start talking about, well…"

She shrugged and uplifted her empty hands towards the library. In the meantime, Eleanor assessed the situation. She was a triangle mage. She had her wand. And about fifteen feet separated her from Siesta. She was dealing with a commoner, a maid, and one who likely had never fought in her life. Theoretically, there was nothing to be frightened of. She could blast Siesta to ashes before she reached her.

But she knew Siesta knew that too. Even so, Siesta simply smiled as she didn't move. And so the question burrowed itself in Eleanor's brain as her wand arm shook.

_Why is she so confident and why…_

_Why am I so terrified now?_

And as the thought entered her brain and paralyzed her, Siesta moved one arm behind her back.


	37. The Emperor: Chapter 10

"_A good compromise makes everyone mad."_

…

…

"May Brimir watch over you. I wish you the best of luck, Lady Karin."

A nobleman graciously bowed to the Duchess before he departed her hotel room. As she sat on a posh wooden chair, Karin watched the closed door for a moment and then looked out the window at the setting evening sun. Below her, the hustle and the bustle of the markets lessened as merchants packed their wares.

"Have I mentioned how much I detest this city, Gramont?"

She looked over at the Marshal. The old man's eyes were closed, but he opened them upon hearing Karin's question. Robert stood behind him so rigidly that he might have just been a piece of furniture.

"From what I understand, it's been a long time since you've actually been to any city, much less Tristania. Are you not interested in what has changed?"

"Nothing has changed since the last time I was here. Sure, buildings and markets have changed, but the interior, the soul of Tristania is still the same. It's just the usual money-grubbing swindling that accompanies these places. Everything's just about who has the most coin, as opposed to honor or prestige or virtue, and the people, whether commoner or noble, are corrupted as they lose their true identity in this swilling mass of men. I'm not going to say it's disgusting, but a few days in this city tires me out more than any one of my fifteen-mile runs."

A bottle of white wine and a glass sat on a nearby table. Karin poured herself a drink as she continued to talk.

"The last nobleman just now. How many nobles have come to declare their loyalty to my husband and me? Twenty-two?

"Twenty-one of the lesser nobles, in fact. That does not include me or Walloon. We all believe that you would serve as Queen and your husband as King. That will create the best future for this country, and no doubt other nobles will come tomorrow."

"Still, far fewer have come than I expected." Karin muttered. "I'll admit I'm somewhat concerned."

"Perhaps you should give it more time then?" Gramont asked. "Let them stew in their own juices?"

Karin shook her head.

"Tristain is at an important moment in its history, which means we need a leader as soon as possible. This isn't a time to sit around a table and bicker about one legal detail after another because a few petty nobles despise me.

I walked out explicitly because I had hoped to force the hands of the nobles who had just sat there and complained without providing a reasonable alternative. Since I already had the support of most of the great families, I thought that most of the other nobles would have accepted and fallen into line when they realized that I wouldn't deal with them. And from what some of the lesser nobles told me throughout the day, the nobles nearly did just that. Until…"

"Wardes."

Karin disdainfully grunted upon hearing that word.

"I had expected General Bonaparte to try something at the conference. I didn't expect Wardes. But it makes sense. For all Wardes professes to disdain his son for betraying Tristain, he still won't accept that Jacques became a traitor. He blames me and our former friendship as a way to avoid blaming his son.

Still, he apparently riled up the other nobles and even Guldenhorf against me. They're meeting tonight, separately. Brimir knows if they would just accept reality…"

Her eyes flashed with irritation and she tilted the glass back.

"Pardon me, Lady Karin, but may I ask you a question?"

Robert's eyes had opened, but he did not look directly at Karin's face nor did he move from his rigid position. Karin looked over at him for a moment before she nodded.

"Lady Karin, you seem to be highly familiar with General Bonaparte?"

"We have met before." Karin coolly responded. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, the General and I did fight together. My question is when the Vallieres rule Tristain, what do you intend to do with General Bonaparte?"  
>"Reward him, naturally."<p>

"Huh?"

Both of the Gramonts looked at Karin in confusion. The elder Gramont had spoken with Karin before and had heard her opinions on Napoleon, and even Robert could tell that the two were not on friendly terms.

"What exactly do you mean by that?" Robert asked.

"I'll give him a promotion, reassign him to Fort Pesante." Karin said. "It's a lovely, ancient fort set in the middle of Tristain. There are no goblins, no bandits, and nothing that will really give Bonaparte trouble over there. He'll have plenty of time for leisure and to work on his piece of mind, and really for a commoner, it's quite the honor."

"Is that necessarily the best thing to do? I am not a fool, Lady Karin. I think everyone in this room knows that what you're proposing is essentially exile. Why not instead use him for the good of the country?"

"That's right." Karin observed. "You served under him at Albion even though he was a commoner and you were a noble. You know, Robert, just why did you do that? I'm sure if you made enough of a fuss, you could have commanded the army. I know why Touraine didn't do that, lazy fool that he is, but what about you?"

"The aftermath of the La Rochelle disaster was not the best time to make a fuss, Lady Karin. And I had talked with Bonaparte with the past and knew he knew many things about the military and leading an army. When one considered that he had already served directly under Princess Henrietta, I saw no reason to interfere when he seized command during that time of emergency."

"I guess I can understand your reasoning, though I still think you should have asserted command. Still, you have a bright future ahead of you, Robert de Gramont. When you succeed your father, I have no doubt you'll be as capable of a tactician as he is."

"I doubt that, Lady Karin." Robert said as he bowed in appreciation.

"However, there's quite a bit about General Bonaparte that I don't think he's bothered to tell you that I know. Now is as good of a time as any to start. To begin wit-"

_Tap tap tap._

Karin was interrupted as someone lightly rapped on the door. After a moment, a voice which they recognized as a servant spoke.

"Pardon the interruption, but I have another guest. He would like to speak with you."

The Gramont elder looked over and nodded at his son, who walked over to open the door. A moment later, he returned, followed by Cardinal Mazarin.

"A pleasant evening to both of you." He said. "I understand that you have been very busy."

As Robert returned to his place by the wall, the Cardinal strode over to Karin. The Duchess got out of her chair and bowed before him.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mazarin. Would you like a glass?"

The Cardinal politely raised a hand.

"Not tonight, Lady Karin. I promise you that the next time I visit, I will partake of what you have to offer me. But I do not plan to stay here for long."

"Well then, what can I do for you?"

"I want you to return to the conference." Mazarin said. "I want a clean slate, where this time the nobles of this country, every single one, will work together to determine the succession to the throne as well as the future of this country."

"You're asking quite a lot from Karin, Mazarin." Gramont interjected. "She has been insulted throughout the entire conference even though her family is the only one that possesses the appropriate bloodline and the right to rule. It would be a great dishonor for her to crawl back to the table and talk with them; especially since she is the one who chose to end the negotiations."

"I must admit that I disagree, Gramont. I think that if Lady Karin came back to the conference and we started these negotiations all over again, it would show that she would be willing to reconsider and rethink her decisions. That is an important quality for a monarch to have."

"'Rethink', Cardinal, implies that my initial decision to walk away was incorrect." Karin quietly stated. "Is that what you're telling me?"

"Frankly, yes." Mazarin responded instantly. "You are not doing the right thing, Karin. I do believe that you have the best intentions, as you only want to end this unfortunate bickering and install a ruler as soon as possible. I understand that completely. However, your tactics are only driving the other nobles into a corner. They're terrified – irrationally, of course, but terrified of the prospect of you becoming a tyrant. Frankly, I do not believe you have done anything of significance to quell them.

I'm not expecting you to crawl back or apologize. I understand your reasoning and acknowledge that many nobles have not treated the Vallieres with the appropriate respect. But this is about the entire country and our future and is arguably the most important event of our lives. All of us must show patience and understanding.

So please, Lady Karin. I think that it would be best for both sides to take a few days off to ensure that all of our tempers have cooled, but then I beg you to resume negotiations."

Despite the harsh words, Karin did not react with her normal fury. Instead, she watched the Cardinal and pondered over his words. But as an uncomfortable silence began to drape over the hotel room, she asked a question.

"Is that all you had to say?"

"What?"

"I'm asking if that's all you had to say." Karin repeated. "Cardinal, we've known each other for a long time. You know perfectly well that it'll take more than a flattering speech for me to change my mind, especially since you didn't propose a means to fix anything. Guldenhorf and Wardes don't want me because of their petty quarrels, not because they're afraid of a tyranny. They're the problems. So, how do you propose I deal with them?"

Mazarin puckered his lips and nervously rubbed his hands together for some time before he finally responded.

"You wouldn't take the throne."

"What?"

Gramont bounced up in his wheelchair in surprise, but Karin raised a hand in the old man's direction before she looked at the Cardinal.

"You must have a very good reason if you're willing to propose that directly to my face, Cardinal. I suggest you explain it."

"My proposal would be that Eleanor would take the throne. She would marry some noble which would solidify her claim and show the Valliere's commitment to partner with the other nobles. If he had not betrayed Tristain, Wardes's son would have been a perfect fit. However, I would suggest Touraine under the current circumstances."

"I like Touraine better." Karin responded. "He has enough prestige to make the rest of the nobles happy, but would be too lazy to actually do any of the running. Thus, I – excuse me, the Vallieres would be able to run the country without interference or whining about tyranny."

"At the same time, the nobles would be less interested in that offer explicitly because they would be concerned about his laziness."

"True." Karin observed. "Still, I guess that is a potential offer, good enough for me to think about."

Mazarin nodded and then looked up at a clock which hung up on the wall.

"I must go attend to the evening services." He said as he stood up. "So, do you promise to come back in a few days?"

"Fine. I will promise to attend." Karin responded. "But what about the other nobles? How do you intend to make sure they appear if they're as annoyed with me as you make them out to be?"

"Don't worry about that. I talked to someone who will be at Wardes's meeting. He will make sure that nothing gets out of hand tonight."

…

"I may not like your mother," Napoleon muttered to Louise as his eyes moved around the room, "but at least she has a sense of artistic taste."

Louise solemnly nodded behind him as a servant led the pair through the Duke of Wardes's estate. From the outside, the estate seemed normal. It was not as large as the Valliere estate, but it was a fine building with luxurious grounds and a large fountain in the center. Napoleon noted that while it obviously went under a different name, the pillars at the front and the highly finished walls reminded him of the Renaissance-era buildings he had seen as a young commander in Italy.

But the estate felt completely different from the inside. Even accounting for the late hour, the rooms felt incredibly dark and stifling as the moon's light somehow failed to penetrate the windows. The darkly-colored furniture and paintings combined with the general lack of lamps only served to accentuate the effect.

Louise suddenly jumped for a moment, and Napoleon turned to look back at her.

"What is it?"

"Did you hear that?"

Napoleon shook his head. He looked over at the servant, but only received a small shrug in response.

"What kind of noise was it anyways?" Napoleon asked.

"I'm…not sure." Louise said. "It was weird, like something was running past us. I know I didn't like it. I never liked coming in this house when I was a child. "

"Has it always been like this?"

"Yes. My father decided that I would marry the Duke's son, Jacques, when I was a young girl, and we remained engaged until he betrayed Tristain. I played with him a lot back then. We normally spent our time outside in the garden or by the terrace as opposed to the house. In fact, like I said at the conference, I almost never saw his father outside of when we ate together. When I did come in the house, his wife was always the one to welcome us. I remember that she was very kind, though she seemed to get sick frequently."

"'Was'?"

"She died five years ago. It was an accident, though Wardes would never tell me the details. I actually haven't been back to this estate nor have I even seen Wardes ever since that event."

Napoleon perked his ears up and tried to catch the sound again. But he could not hear a thing.

"I doubt it's important." He decided. "Come on, Louise. We should get to the dining room."

A few minutes later, they arrived at the dining hall. It was a room just as gloomy as the others in this estate. The burning lamps seemed to emit less light than normal, and a few animal skulls rested on a pair of tables on opposite sides of the room. At the table in the center, the Duke of Wardes sat along with Guldenhorf and an additional two dozen nobles. Napoleon recognized one of them as the Count who had sat across from him and had been so bitter towards Karin.

"Ah, General Bonaparte and Louise." Wardes cried as he gave a wave of appreciation. "I am glad you have arrived. I was beginning to wonder if you wouldn't come after all."

"I wanted to wait and see how many nobles showed up first." Napoleon said. "I'll admit fewer have appeared than I have anticipated."

"There are quite a few nobles who are sympathetic to us but have chosen not to attend tonight." Guldenhorf stated. "They would prefer to bide their time and for the moment await future events. I know that the Marquis of Touraine falls among those ranks."

"Touraine? He probably wanted to come here, but he forgot and fell asleep instead." Another nobleman with a slight accent and a gray beard quipped.

In the meantime, Napoleon took a seat at the table, and Louise sat down next to him. But then the same nobleman who had made that small joke about the Marquis looked at her.

"I had wondered during conference, General Bonaparte, but exactly why is Karin's daughter with you anyways?"

"She is my partner." Bonaparte responded. "I'm sure the entire story would be long and uninteresting to you gentlemen, especially when we have much to do. Let me simply observe that it is my duty to protect her, especially after she was thrown out of her family."

"But why? Why are you supposed to-"

The noble was interrupted as Wardes all of a sudden began to violently cough, and the rest of the nobles looked in his direction as the old man hacked and wheezed. After a few seconds, it finally subsided and the Duke cleared his throat.

"That's better." He said. "But I don't think it's all that important or interesting to worry about Louise, Count Kundera. At any rate, it's not like we can actually believe she did anything wrong when Karin tossed her out. Poor girl probably dropped a sewing needle or something and that bat began to screech about the dishonor of the Vallieres."

A few members of the table chuckled to Wardes's jest, and Napoleon used the moment to shoot an aside glance at Louise's reaction. She seemed to pay the statement no heed as she looked around the room. After the short laughter died down, Wardes looked kindly upon Louise.

"Please, Louise. Make yourself at home. You have nothing to worry about. Now fortunately, we were just starting when you arrived, General Bonaparte."

"That is good to know. But the fact is that I'm still fairly uncertain about the exact purpose of this meeting."

"General Bonaparte has good point. It worries me too." Kundera stated. "We are here to discuss problem of Valliere tyranny, yes? What do you have to say, Wardes?"

Wardes leaned forward and put his arm on the table. As he began to speak, the white rat named Lady popped out of his sleeve and scurried onto the table.

"I'm not here for any rousing calls of action or anything like that." He began. "I'm simply here to assess who among the nobility understands the importance of keeping our privileged rights and preventing Karin from becoming a tyrant. It's really as simple as that. For now, I think it's important that we nobles work together to prevent that possibility. Nothing more."

"Do you intend go back and continue negotiations with Karin?" Napoleon asked.

"That depends on her. If Karin chooses not to negotiate, then that could be a problem. We could focus then on getting as many undecided nobles to understand our concerns as soon as possible, but we would have to deal with the Vallieres one way or the other. Negotiation is preferable to other alternatives, however."

"Then there is nothing to be worried about." Guldenhorf stated. "I have reason to confidently believe that Karin will attempt to re-open negotiations with us again."

"And why is that?"

"I talked to Mazarin after the conference. I persuaded him to ask Karin come back to the conference. Since he is the official mediator and is generally friendly with her, I'm sure he will succeed."

The nobles murmured amongst themselves in response to this piece of news, but Guldenhorf continued, a smile on his face.

"Furthermore, I have a proposal which I think she might listen to and which might end this sordid mess. What if Eleanor was to take the throne?"

Wardes slowly watched Guldenhorf with his unblinking white eyes.

"That is very surprising from you, Guldenhorf." He slowly observed. "Why Eleanor?"

"It prevents Karin from becoming a tyrant as she wouldn't rule. Of course, Eleanor, Karin's eldest daughter, would have to find a suitable king for a husband."

"You have son, but he is married, Guldenhorf." Kundera acidly stated. "And even if he was not, Karin would never accept marriage between her eldest daughter and a Guldenhorf, so do not suggest it."

"I'm not a complete idiot, Kundera. I never said it had to be me. The point I'm trying to make is that if Eleanor takes the throne, then obviously Karin won't. And that should solve our problem."

Guldenhorf gave a small smile of triumph as he sat back in the chair.

"Well, what do you think? Do you think that it would work in resolving this crisis?"

"Guldenhorf does have a point." One nobleman said. "We should work on solving the problem as soon as possible, and this proposal seems to-"

"Do what? This proposal doesn't solve anything about this country aside from your quarrel with the Vallieres, Guldenhorf. Actually, please let me correct myself; it does not even solve that."

Napoleon heavily sighed as he finished his sentence, and Guldenhorf looked over at him in irritation.

"Would you then care to kindly explain what's wrong?"

"Let me ask a question first. Why are you concerned about Karin becoming a tyrant?"

"Huh?" Guldenhorf asked. "I know I discussed it during the conference. If the power of the Valliere estate is merged with the power the throne possesses, Karin would be able to destroy all of us if she became queen."

"If your concern is the merging of Valliere and royal power, then how does placing Eleanor on the throne solve that at all? The fact is that it does not matter which Valliere takes the throne, whether it is Karin and her husband, Eleanor, or Cattleya. All three of those choices come with the same potential tyranny. The possibility is stronger if Karin is placed on the throne, but when you consider that Karin will still remain the head of the family, how can you ignore the possibility that she'll just manipulate the throne and make Eleanor a puppet?"

Napoleon's argument was met with silence. The nobles looked at each other as they wondered what to make of what he had said. Guldenhorf took deep sigh as he thought for a moment and then retorted.

"Much of what you have said is true, General Bonaparte, but for better or for worse, a Valliere must take the throne. They are the only ones who have the proper legitimacy and bloodline. Now we nobles can limit the power that the Valliere Duke or Eleanor or possibly Cattleya would possess before they take the throne, but one of them will have to take it because of their bloodline."

"Do you not notice the contradiction in your words, Guldenhorf?"

"What?"

"It's really quite simple." Napoleon said. "If the Vallieres are really the best, no the only candidates who can rule Tristain because of their bloodline…

Why are you trying so hard to restrict their power? Is not their bloodline blessed by Brimir? If the Vallieres are truly blessed, should you not trust them to be their ruler?"

"Do you actually believe that Karin should lead Tristain, General Bonaparte?" Guldenhorf slowly asked.

"She's a possible ruler, but that isn't relevant." Napoleon replied. "I'm simply pointing out that if you really believed that Karin's bloodline is what makes her the legitimate ruler of Tristain, you would have no problems. Obviously, you do. What that means is that you implicitly accept the concept that while the bloodline may determine if a king is legitimate, it does not determine if the king will be a good ruler. And it is that second problem which understandably concerns you.

I agree with that thinking, but in fact I would take it a step forward and propose a simple statement. A good ruler with no legitimacy is superior to a bad ruler who does possess the legitimacy. Therefore, if you come to the conclusion that the Vallieres will be inherently bad rulers because of the potential of tyranny, than you should believe that without being hindered by the idea that her bloodline is the important factor."

"So, what then do you propose? Do you believe that the Vallieres should not take the crown?"

"No. The ideal situation for Tristain is a good ruler with good legitimacy. Only a Valliere can fulfill the latter requirement, but the key is that the first quality is the more important. Ideally, a Valliere should rule, and you should continue to negotiate with Karin so that she can show that she and her husband will be a fair ruler who will listen to your wishes. But if she proves recalcitrant, or stubborn, do not let yourself despair with the thought that only a Valliere can rule. There are always alternatives."

As Napoleon finished his speech, the dining room turned into silence. The only noise that could be heard was Lady as she scurried about on top of the table. She stopped in front of every noble and looked at them for a moment before she groomed herself. As the process was finished, she ran around for a bit and then moved in front of another.

"General Bonaparte…is correct." Kundera finally acknowledged. "We should not be restricted with idea that only Valliere can take the throne. That is best scenario, but better ruler may appear, yes?"

"That is only a worst-case contingency, Kundera, nothing more." Wardes responded. "Still, there is one thing that is true. Letting Eleanor take the throne will not significantly improve matters for us. Perhaps a better prospect would be to simply limit the direct power that they can wield."

"What do you propose, then?" Guldenhorf said.

"Perhaps we could break up her estate. Karin and her husband can take the throne. In exchange, she has to distribute the old Valliere lands to us which will limit how much she can do."

"I doubt either Karin or her husband will accept that." Noyon grumbled.

"She does not need to give up all of it." Guldenhorf interjected. "If half of the Valliere land were surrendered to the nobility, Karin could no longer dominate all of us with only that much territory. The point is that we can negotiate about the percentage, and we know that there are…alternatives if she refuses to talk with us.

We can start working on the details now anyways. If we are going to give Karin a proposal which will limit the power of the Vallieres, we should work to close loopholes and think of contingencies. We will have plenty of time anyways. Mazarin requested a pause of two days so that we may cool our heads."

…

Louise couldn't help but sigh as she looked at the hands on the wall clock on the dining hall. The meeting had continued for an hour after they had discussed the prospect of breaking up the Valliere estate. It had since devolved into a giant mess of technical and economic issues, as the nobles talked with one another about various means to limit the power of her mother. She barely listened to what they said, but she did know that much of the time had been spent discussing who would get what slice of the Valliere estate in the event that Karin accepted their proposal. The entire process irked her. She may have been disowned from the family, but she had grown up as a Valliere. The thought of her home being broken up for the sake of politics disgusted her.

She sneaked a glance over at Napoleon. For some reason, he had said very little over the past hour and he had openly slumped down into his chair. He had noted little details and corrections here and there, enough that she could see that he was paying attention, but that was about it.

A few minutes later, her partner finally stood up. He declared to the other nobles that he needed to leave and wished them good night. The nobles politely returned the compliment and Louise took off after him as he left the estate. While they walked through the grounds in silence, she finally decided to ask him the minute they passed the gate.

"Why didn't you say anything for the last hour? Wardes and Guldenhorf were proposing all sorts of plans and discussing how they would or would not work, and you didn't say anything. Was something wrong?"

"Are you saying that you do not mind them attempting to mess with the amount of power your mother controls?"

"Erk."

"Hm?"

She stopped. The question was bigger than that, she knew that much. Her partner wasn't just asking her about the power her mother wielded. Napoleon wanted to know what she thought about the relationship between herself and the family she had once belonged to.

She had spent the last hour pondering that question. Cattleya wasn't a problem. Louise loved her, without hesitation or reservation. She would do anything, anything to protect her, as she had made perfectly clear to the Duke of Wardes when he had ranted against revenge on her former family.

But what did she think of the others? Mother, who had disowned her. Father, who had consented to mother's decision. Eleanor, who had always berated her for her failures as a magician. Would she protect them? Would she fight them? She knew that this was something which she had to answer soon, all the more so because of the animosity between Napoleon and Karin. Currently, Napoleon was her partner. But what would she do if he really did battle with her mother?

She stammered and mumbled, but no proper words came out of her mouth. Napoleon stared at her for a long time, but then began to walk away.

"Well, I didn't expect an answer from you anyways. But to answer your question, everything that those nobles were talking about was completely pointless. They can make all the discussions and contingencies they want, but it won't help them when the negotiations resume. And I had accomplished what I had set out to do the minute they acknowledged that a Valliere didn't necessarily have to take the throne. If I could have, I would have left right then."

"So, do you think that someone else should take the throne? Do you believe that Guldenhorf or Wardes would make better candidates?"

"Not exactly. All I want to do is to slowly change the mindset of the other nobles. It's going to be a slow, long process which should take some time as long as nothing unexpected occurs."

He nodded in satisfaction to Louise as they reached an intersection, whose mind became even more befuddled by what he said. She numbly watched as he moved forward.

Wait, forward?

"Napoleon, wait a minute!"

She called out after him as she pointed to her left.

"The Charming Fairy Inn's this way. Where are you going?"

"What?" Napoleon slowly intoned. "Louise, did you think that we were going to stay there?"

"W-well, of course? That's where we slept last night."

"Louise, the Charming Fairy Inn does quite a bit of business. We were able to get rooms last night because Jessica was so sorry, but we can't count on her trying to murder you repeatedly just to get a free room."

"Napoleon." Louise stammered. "You didn't answer my question. Where are we staying tonight?"

Napoleon merely looked at her and shook his head for a moment. Then without a word, he turned around and started to walk forward again. As he did so, a slow, heavy weight descended upon Louise's heart as she began to panic. She dashed up to Napoleon, yelling all the way.

"Hold on, Napoleon! We're not sleeping in a p-park or something like that, right? I mean, there are tons of places we could stay, right? Like we could go to Giono's house or go back to Wardes or-

"I bought a house."

"…"

"…"

A crowd cawed in the distance as Louise stood, stunned.

"What?"

"I bought a house. Well, Matilda did. Did you not wonder where she's been all day?"

"I just assumed she was with her sister, the elf girl…"

"Her name's Tiffania, Louise. And while you're right that Matilda did spend some time over there, you should not just make assumptions about where people are. I won many battles because I knew where the enemy was while they didn't know my location.

Anyways, she went and got a house for us to live in while we stay in Tristania for the foreseeable future. It's probably a bit cheaper than what you're used to, but it'll be fine. And if you're wondering about money, I do draw a salary as a general."

"Well, that's good." Louise slowly stated. "How much did you spend to get it?"

"100 gold."

This time, Louise's jaw dropped. A perfect portrait of shock and horror formed on her face.

"Um…uh, Napoleon?"

"Yes?"

"I spent 100 gold to get you Derflinger. A rusty, beaten up sword which the shopkeeper was trying to get rid of cost me a hundred gold. And you brought a house with that much money?"

"Well, like I said, it's probably a bit cheaper than what you're used to. It's all right. I noticed the house when I was camped outside of Tristain. I've lived in worse places."

"I…I…"

"So let's get going. Matilda is waiting for us there."

Napoleon set off down the street. Louise followed after him like a machine, forcing herself to drag one foot after another. As she did so, all sorts of horrifying images and fantasies flashed through her heard as she pictured the house in her mind.

"Will it have water? Will I have to walk half an hour to get water? And if I don't have water, what am I going to do about cleaning? Or my hair? Am I going to cut it off and sell it to some wig shop in order to get clean water? Or light? And where will we get food or something like that? Am I going to have to eat rats or crows and say farewell to lamb soup and blueberry pie and everything I like?"

She kept following Napoleon as they walked through the streets. But as Louise continued to think, she began to wonder whether getting murdered by her mother was that terrible of a fate.

…

"Good to see you, Napoleon, Louise. I hope everything has turned out well."

"Everything's fine, Matilda." Napoleon said to the former thief. "I trust there were no problems with purchasing the house?"

"None at all. So what do you think about your new home, Louise?"

Louise just stood there, her mouth glued shut. Her eyebrows twitched and her small hands balled together into fists as she stared daggers in her partner's direction.

"Did…you…enjoy…lying…to me, Napoleon? Were you just walking to this house watching me freak out the entire time?"

"To be honest, yes." Napoleon responded. "The best part was when you still continued to panic even after we entered the High Quarter.

But I'm not lying about the price, Louise. I really did get it for a hundred gold."

"WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?! THIS IS A PROPER NOBLE VILLA! NOBLES WILL STAY HERE WHEN THEY INTEND TO LIVE IN TRISTAINIA WITH THEIR FAMILIESFOR A LONG TIME AND DEAL WITH IMPORTANT BUSINESS! A PLACE LIKE THIS IS 1800 NEW GOLD AT LEAST, AND PROBABLY MORE! HOW DID YOU GET THIS FOR ONLY A HUNDRED GOLD?!"

"You should know that it's a long stor-"

"I DON'T CARE!" Louise roared. "YOU JUST HAD ME PANIC ABOUT ME CUTTING OFF MY HAIR AND SELLING IT TO A WIG SHOP! FOR HALF AN HOUR! YOU OWE ME AN EXPLANATION, FOR BRIMIR'S SAKE! SO TELL ME, OR I SWEAR I WILL BLOW YOU TO GERMANIA WITH MY VOID MAGIC, AND I WON'T CARE ABOUT THE FUTURE CONSEQUENCES!"

Louise panted heavily as she finished yelling. Matilda widened her eyes and even Napoleon waved his hands in apology.

"Okay, okay, maybe I went a little too far-"

"A LITTLE?!"

"Okay, I went too far. But you want the explanation now, right?"

The villa was a pretty red brick house. It was not too small and yet also avoided the problem of being oversized for merely three people. A small patio complete with a pond was located in front of the main entrance. With a huff, Louise strode over and forcefully sat down on a large rock as she waited for Napoleon's explanation.

"Well, Louise, have you ever heard of Count Mott?"

"Mott?" Louise repeated. "The name's familiar. So he's the nobleman who owned this house? Did you buy it from him?"

"Not exactly. As you said, Count Mott was a nobleman, but he really was a particularly nasty person even by my standards. He conducted all sorts of sick experiments on his servants and commoners, he whipped them, he put electric collars on them, and that's not even half of it. I don't know half of what he did, and frankly I don't really gain anything by knowing.

Anyways, there had been all sorts of rumors about him for years, so Giono did some investigating. He uncovered everything. It was absolutely ridiculous how much info he managed to obtain on the noble. And after a few weeks of work, he published an article detailing all of the evil things he had done.

This was before the Albion invasion, so Henrietta arrested him. He managed to take poison in jail and escape the gallows, but that left the issue of how to deal with his property. Most of it was seized by the crown to help pay for the war, but a local official managed to grab this villa in the chaos. He had hoped to sell it to some nobleman to line his own pockets. However, everyone was busy with the war and no one really wanted a villa which had been used by a madman. Apparently he conducted some of his experiments down here in the basement."

"Wait, what?"

"Don't worry, that's all been tossed out. I asked Matilda today to check the house for any unsavory surprises or traps. Anyways, Giono found out what the official was up to and basically struck a deal. He sells me the house for almost nothing and Giono doesn't write a piece on corruption of local officials in Tristania. That's particularly valuable when a person as obsessed as upholding the law as your mother is a realistic candidate for the throne.

"So," Louise grumbled. "You got this villa for this price because it was owned by a decadent madman and you then had Giono blackmail a corrupt official?

"If you're still complaining, we really could go get a hovel by the sewers if that suits your taste. We would probably need to stop by a barber first, however. Can't maintain hair like that down there."

Louise lightly shoved Napoleon in response. Then with a final, annoyed glance she opened the door to the villa and moved to storm inside.

"Wait, Louise."

Matilda spoke up before she could cross the threshold.

"There is something that I think we need to discuss now before any of us enter this home."

"Is it about the traps?" Louise asked. "That stupid idiot of a partner just said that you checked the house and removed all of them."

Matilda shook her head. As the other two watched her, Napoleon leaned against the wall of the villa.

"It's not about that." She finally said. "I checked everywhere, but Mott was far too obvious about where he placed them. It's about another threat that I think we need to discuss. One that affects both of us."

"Well, what is it?"

"Louise, what do you think about Wardes?"

The young girl scrunched her face up in confusion.

"Wardes? He tries to act nice to me, but I don't trust him and think he's more than a little creepy. I don't like that rat that's always hanging around him, and he threatened Cattleya and – what is it?"

Matilda had lifted her hand, as if to interrupt Louise.

"You misunderstand, though I guess I should have been clearer," she said. "I'm asking about his son. Jacques, the one who betrayed Tristania. I heard that he was your fiancé. You should have known him very well, right?"

Louise couldn't help but reminiscence over the question. The younger Wardes had been her fiancé from a long time ago. Of course, now that he had become a traitor and she had been kicked out of the Valliere family, the political reasons which had created the marriage in the first place had vanished. And what she had told his father and Napoleon was true. Louise had not seen Wardes in five years, back when his mother was still alive. As far as she had known, Wardes had busied himself with mission after mission as the Captain of the Griffin Knights for Tristania. Perhaps he had turned traitor because of his mother's death and had secretly fought for Albion all this time? Perhaps it had been earlier than that? When she had seen him for the last time, had he already pledged his loyalty to a foreign country?

She thought back to the last she had seen him. As a young girl who had believed herself to be a failure, she had run out of the Valliere estate after another scolding from her mother for her lack of magical aptitude. As she had run and hid through the bushes, she could hear the gossip of the servants.

"That girl… a noble who can't use magic…"

"I wish that little girl was more proficient. Madam tries her best to conceal it, but she's so much more irritable after she talks with Louise. Why, just the other day…"

As the servants giggled amongst themselves, she slipped away to her hiding spot, the one place where she felt secure in the mansion. At one end of a small boat, she hugged her knees and cradled her body as she pitied herself.

"Maybe I am not a true Valliere?" she murmured to herself. She had doubted herself. She always had, both before she had entered the Academy and before she had summoned…him, and learned of her true power. But that day was particularly bad. She just sat there morosely on the boat, wondering what she was to do and how she could talk to her mother.

"Louise, is something the matter?"

He had appeared. Without her noticing, he had sat down at the opposite end of the boat from her. His eyes were covered by the gigantic plumed hat on his head, but Louise could see the kind smile on his face.

They talked for a long time. Wardes told him that there was nothing to be ashamed of and that he would calm down her mother. And she always knew, even after he left, that he was always kind to her.

And yet…

"I'm not sure what to think, Matilda." She finally stated. "My former fiancé is a traitor, an enemy of Tristania. As a servant of the crown and my country, I will ensure that he pays for his crimes when I see him."

"But what about-"

"What do I think, Matilda? I honestly don't know. It has been a long time since I talked to him. But why are you asking this question?"

"Because Wardes didn't betray Tristain to fight for Albion."

"What?" Louise stated. "What do you mean? From what I heard, he helped you escape to Albion."

"That's true. But Wardes wasn't working for the Albion government. He was working for Cromwell's secretary. That woman was the real ruler of Albion, Cromwell was just a puppet. She was a terrifying woman, Sheffield. I'll never forget her-"

"Sheffield?"

Napoleon's eyes flitted towards Matilda.

"You said her name was Sheffield? Dark-haired woman, has some paint right underneath her eyes?"

"Wait, yes." Matilda breathed. "But how did you-"

"And you say that Wardes works for her? And that Wardes is after you?"

"Yes. But-"

"Waitwaitwait!" Louise shouted. "Wardes is after Matilda? And Wardes works for the true ruler of Albion or something like that, and you know her, Napoleon?"

Napoleon said nothing in response. He looked at Matilda, then at Louise, and then at the villa. Finally his eyes rested on the patio behind the villa.

"We are going over there." He said. "I don't like the conclusions I've drawn, but there isn't much of a choice. We might as well begin preparing sooner rather than later."

…

…

The patio contained a table and a few chairs. Napoleon and Louise looked across from each other, while Matilda stood behind her master. Louise's eyes visibly twitched as she stared straight ahead.

"So let me see if I have this straight, Napoleon."

"Alright then."

"I'm not the only Void mage."

"Correct."

"The King of Gallia is also a Void mage."

"Correct."

"He also has a Void familiar, Myozunitonirun. She goes by Sheffield and was the one actually running Albion during the war."

"Correct."

"So essentially, King Joseph Gaul was trying to destroy our country by using Albion."

"Correct."

"And Wardes works for this Sheffield character."

"Correct."

"She is the person who ordered Matilda to steal the Staff of Destruction and as a result destroy my school."

"Correct." Matilda said.

"And after you were finished, she intended to kill you as you were a loose end."

"She gave me orders later. She told me to attack your school and attempt to kill as many of the students as I could, so that I could destroy the flower of the Tristain nobility. But in reality, it was a suicide mission to eliminate me. Both Sheffield and I knew it, and she knew I would have to do it to protect the orphanage."

"But since you're now my servant and my partner's relocated the orphanage, you have no intention of fulfilling that mission. Which means that Sheffield – or by extension, the King of Gallia - will send someone to take you out. This will also mean that she will send someone to take me out."

"It's not completely certain that Joseph will attempt to have you removed, but it is highly likely." Napoleon responded. "I just told you, after all. If I were a Void mage and in a position of high power, I'd likely want to eliminate any other Void mages given how rare they are. I don't know when Joseph will strike, but I'm sure it'll happen eventually. We need to be prepared."

"Well, what do we do?" Louise asked.

"I intend to begin weaving defensive spells to protect this place tomorrow." Matilda said. "Fortunately, it's fairly secluded from other houses, so that will be easy. A few earth traps on the yard and the nearby streets will help a lot, and I intend to create a barrier that can detect any intruders."

But honestly, what's important is to protect you, Louise, as you are my master. So we need to train to focus on your own protection."

"I guess you want to teach me more magic?" Louise asked. "I've learned a lot from Colbert, Matilda. I don't necessarily know how much you can help with that."

Matilda quietly laughed at those words.

"No, no, no. I know you know a lot about magic, Louise. I watched you fight Touraine. But you see…"

Matilda bent and placed her arms on Louise's shoulders…

"I also know from watching that that you know absolutely nothing about fighting."

And then her right arm snaked down and locked Louise in a chokehold.

"Gurrkh!?"

Louise's eyes shot open in shock as her arms instinctively reached up to attack her assailant in any way she could. But as she looked up at Matilda, she noticed that Napoleon did not react at all to this provocation.

"Too slow."

The former thief muttered those words before she effortlessly lifted Louise out of her chair and tossed her onto the grass.

"Guh!"

Louise gasped as her back hit the ground. As she struggled to pick herself up, Matilda strode over and stepped on her right wrist.

"Napoleon told me that he tried to physically train you before the war began, and there are some fruits that came from it – my arms do hurt from your punches. But that's not the same as fighting. Let me ask you, Louise. What would you do if you've lost your wand?"

"What? I-I don't know and ow! "

Matilda's foot ground down a little harder on her wrist.

"'I don't know' should NEVER be an answer to any combat situation, Louise. I've had situations as a thief where I couldn't use my wand, so I had to improvise. The obvious answer then, is to learn to fight without magic."

"So I will help you on that. And will start by sparring, right here and right now. Or rather, we will fight here, and you will try not to get beaten to a bloody pulp. Your goal for now is to simply survive. Do you understand?"

"Yesyesyes! Now please, get off me, Matilda!"

Matilda nodded and lifted the pressure off of Louise's wrist. As Louise, she gingerly rubbed her back and wrists as she stared at her servant. She raised her hands up in front of her in a combat stance, but her entire body visibly trembled as she looked at her now hostile servant.

"Do you intend to go easy on me?"

Matilda bent her head slightly to the side, cracking the joints in her neck.

"Of course not. Here I come, Louise. You better have enough stamina for this battle."


	38. The Emperor: Chapter 11

"_In the world of locked rooms, the man with the key is king. And honey, you should see me in a crown."_

_Sherlock_.

…

...

It was quite amusing, Napoleon thought.

He was a commander. An expert in artillery. The greatest military genius in the history of the world since Hannibal, no since Alexander. The man who had conquered the world until bad luck, and treachery, and the unfairness of Britain's navy had cost him the destiny which the stars had promised him. He was a master of war who had commanded hundreds of thousands of soldiers in his name and sent them to their deaths, both for the glory of France and his Empire. He had reached heights as a military leader that practically no one before him or after would ever reach.

But he couldn't help but reminiscence about his youth as he watched Louise smack into the ground once again. How long had it been since he had been forced to fight himself? Was it in Egypt, or perhaps it was at Lodi back in Italy? Maybe even further back as a student? He honestly wasn't completely sure at this point. He had noticed at times that it was difficult to remember events from his youth, though that was probably just the inevitable effects of age. Nevertheless, the fact that he had not fought in so long did not bother him in the slightest, but he did find it interesting as he watched his partner struggle up to his feet. In the meantime, he leaned against the wall of his new home and continued to watch.

He was honestly impressed with Matilda, who was now dusting off her hands and watching her master get up. She seemed self-taught due to her irregular stances and her total lack of a sense of fair play, but she had proven to be effective at her new job of beating Louise into a bloody pulp, as the past two days had demonstrated. Even when one considered the fact that he was obviously stronger than a mere woman, Napoleon had to concede that Matilda could likely beat him in a straight brawl, without magic or his runes.

Louise spat blood and wiped her eyes with her right hand. Her other hand stretched in front to defend herself, but it visibly shook.

"You're a dirty cheat." She muttered to Matilda. "What kind of persons throws sand in my face?"

Matilda shook her head at those words.

"A person who actually wants to win a fight, Louise."

She then charged at Louise, her arms ready to strike. Louise managed to block the first blow with her outstretched arm, but her reflexes remained too slow. Before she could react, Matilda socked Louise in the stomach with her other arm.

"Guh!"

Louise bent down as she staggered in pain. She quickly took a few steps backwards and blindly lashed out in front of her to prevent further attacks, only to notice that Matilda was no longer in front of her.

"What the-"

Louise never finished her sentence as she felt a hand on the back of her neck. Matilda promptly kneed Louise in the small of her back and pushed her down. Once again, Louise lost her balance and smacked face-first into the dirt.

"Oof!"

Matilda promptly let go of Louise. The younger girl tried to get up for an instant, but then realized that her supposed servant had once again placed her arms by her side, no longer bothering to strike a pose. She gave a small smile while she did so.

"So you finally take a swing at me after two days of sparring. A bit disappointing honestly, but at least you are getting better."

Louise planted her face into the dirt and grumbled, but she did not get up as Matilda continued.

"But while I praise you for your spirit, Louise, just what were you thinking trying a blind attack like that? I know that during a fight, the blood pumps and you feel stronger and faster than you normally are. But at the end of the day Louise, you've never fought in your life. You couldn't hurt anyone with any punch you would try. On top of that, you put your thumb inside your fist when you tried to punch me. Even if by some miracle you had actually hit me in a way that would have hurt me, you would have broken your thumb through the impact."

Louise mumbled into the dirt, but she refused to move. With a sigh, Matilda stood back up, walked over to Louise's side, and then used her feet to roll Louise over on her back.

"What did you say?"

Louise looked at Matilda's face, then at the grey sky, and then finally lingered on Napoleon before she turned back to Matilda. Her expression visibly irritated, she hesitated for a moment before she began to complain.

"Well, how am I supposed to hurt you then?" She said. "I thought this was a fight. But what kind of fight is it if I don't have the strength to actually win?"

"Win the fight? Oh dear. I am afraid that you've misunderstood the point of this exercise from the beginning"

"Wait, what are you talking about OOF!"

Without any warning, Matilda lightly plopped herself down onto Louise's belly, and the younger girl gasped in shock and surprise. As she struggled to breathe, Matilda slipped a hand into her own sleeves.

"Well, the thing is, I guess I've been misleading you the whole time, Louise. But then again, you wouldn't have acted properly if I told you that you were just supposed to dodge my attacks."

"What...are…you…talking about?"

"You still don't get it?" Matilda sighed. "Fine. I'll explain it completely. I knew you didn't have the strength to actually beat me up, nor have you learned the technique to make up for your lack of strength. Consequently, you never had a chance of actually hurting me. The goal was for you to always gain the instinct necessary to dodge attacks and search for openings so you could strike, even if you couldn't hurt me."

"But…then why didn't you tell me I had to do was dod-"

"If I had told you that, you would have only focused on dodging and not on finding ways to strike back. You need to do both, even if for you, the latter is more important. After all, learning how to dodge attacks will be useful for you whether you have your wand or not. Later in fact, I suggest I should have you dodge some of my spells and see how well you do. I won't use anything that will kill you. Well, I think so."

"Er…hold on a sec-"

"Anyways, let's get back to business." Matilda lightly stated as she interrupted her master once again. "I'm sure you've guessed that I'm probably going to teach you how to actually attack your opponent without a wand?"

"Well, yes." Louise said. "You stated I don't have the strength, but there is the technique, right? You know it, so you can teach me."

She nodded in self-satisfaction, but then Matilda shook her head.

"It took me years to learn how to fight, Louise. Years of training and fighting. I never had a master, so I just had to teach myself, a process with huge amounts of trial and error. We don't have that much time to prepare. As a Void mage, you have to learn how to fight as soon as possible.

And besides, at the end of the day, all of the fancy fighting tricks in Helgekinia…"

She reached a little deeper into her sleeves.

"Don't really compare to _this._"

And dropped something that landed with a thud by Louise's face.

Louise slowly looked to her side. Standing-there point first into the ground was a knife, its blade about eight inches long. She couldn't help but note the lack of ornamentation on its black wooden handle.

"This is a stiletto, Louise. A weapon designed to stab above all else. It's small enough to hide in your clothes should you ever need to draw it. That, right there, is more useful than any fighting techniques I can teach you in a short timeframe."

Louise's fingers trembled as she finally got up and tugged the knife out of the ground. She noted that the blade could fold into the handle and began to try sheathing it. It took her a moment to actually push the blade into the handle. As she then tried to remove it from the handle, her fingers trembled as they tried to pull the blade out before they finally succeeded.

"I'm taking too much time to do this," she muttered. "I'll have to improve. So Matilda, do you intend to teach me how to fight with this?"

"I don't know how to."

"What?"

"Louise," Matilda stated, "Beyond the obvious statement of 'stab the enemy with the knife and don't try to slash them with this kind of weapon'; I know very little about how to use it. In fact, I actually picked it up from a shop a few days ago."

She reached down into her boots and pulled out another knife. It looked different from Louise's knife. The blade was quite a bit longer, and Louise could see that unlike her stiletto, this knife possessed an edge.

"I got you your kind of knife because it's easier to conceal on you. I'm a thief, so that's less of a priority for me because I'm sneaking into places anyways unlike you. However, Louise, I've never actually had to use it in combat."

Louise opened her mouth in confusion, but Matilda waved her off and continued.

"Do not forget, Louise, that this is an emergency weapon above all, especially for some like you who could be attacked at any time. But only use it in situations when you can't use your wand first. Do you understand me?"

Louise solemnly nodded at those words. She finally stood up as her hands still grasped her blade. She quickly gave a few practice stabs with the weapon, but then with a peculiar expression, she closed it into its handle and stowed it into her pockets.

"It feels strange." She quietly admitted.

"Really?" Matilda said. "I'll admit that one reason I picked that particular knife is so that it would look and feel like your wand. I figured that would help you get adjusted to it."

"That's the problem. I know I've killed people with my wand, Matilda. But my wand – well, it feels like a stick. Nothing more and nothing less. I don't feel any real guilt when I hold it.

But this is a weapon. I recognize it as a weapon. And that's what makes it strange. I'm scared of this thing in my pocket, even though it really is far less dangerous than my wand."

Matilda said nothing in response as she looked at her master. Louise's mouth twitched for a moment, but then she turned towards the wall.

"Napoleon! Don't you have anything to say about that? I know you like to-"

He was gone. Louise stopped in confusion and then turned towards Matilda.

"Matilda, where did he go?"

"You didn't notice?" Matilda responded. "He left a few minutes ago. Did you forget, Louise? The conference for the crown resumes today, and he told you earlier that he wanted to go alone. He was worried for your safety."

Louise grumbled as she remembered those words. She really wasn't sure if it was safer to stay here as opposed to walking to the palace, but she really didn't like to go there anyways. She couldn't help but dislike most of the nobles there, and she still remained terrified of talking to her mother.

Still, did he really have to slip out like that?

…

"What in Brimir's name is the meaning of this, Cardinal Mazarin?!"

The main hall of the Tristanian palace shone as bright and pure as normal as the members of the nobility sat to discuss the future of their country. But now, the Duke of Guldenhorf's normally refined and haughty expression had devolved into a complete snarl. As he advanced on Mazarin, the cardinal helplessly waved his hands.

"I don't know myself, Guldenhorf. Please, don't look at me about this!"

"Really now?" Guldenhorf sarcastically stated. "We know you're friends with the Vallieres, Mazarin. Are you doing this just to humiliate us, to make us beg for Karin to take the throne?"

"I am only a messenger of Brimir. I have no political sides and-"

"Oh, SHUT UP! You go through the entire effort of dragging all of us nobles out here to talk with Karin again after she walks out on us. Pretty much the whole point of this conference is to determine whether or not she can take the throne. I and my fellow noblemen spend hours determining proposals through which we might be willing to let her have the crown…"

Guldenhorf turned away from Mazarin and pointed at the high table, where the Five Great Families of Tristain had sat throughout the entire negotiation process. Everyone who was there for the original broken-down negotiations a few days ago was there…

"AND SHE DOESN'T EVEN SHOW UP?!"

With one exception. No one currently sat at the Valliere seat, and the lesser nobles angrily muttered amongst themselves in response. At the end of the lower table, Napoleon Bonaparte said nothing. Every now and then, he looked around, but his eyes generally remained closed as he listened to the others talk.

"What accusation are you making, Guldenhorf?" The Gramont elder bristled. "I am sure Lady Valliere has a very important reason not to be attending. In fact, she may just be very late due to some unexpected problem or -"

"Late? This conference was supposed to start almost two hours ago!" One nobleman yelled. "And this is the conference to determine the next ruler of this country! It's to determine whether Karin herself should take the crown. I don't care what reason it is. Even if it is so incredibly important, the least she should do is tell us why rather than making all of us wait for someone who is not coming! This is a complete disgrace and a waste of time to my family and to everyone who sits here today! Do you believe that she possesses at least that much of an obligation to us, Gramont, or are you willing to continue to be her willing lapdog?"

That attack hit hard enough to make even the old Marshall draw back a pace. His face turned red and he stammered slightly, but he said nothing. The Duke of Wardes took the moment to speak.

"Come to think about it," he hissed in his old, deep voice, "Gramont, Walloon. You had no idea that Karin wouldn't show up today either?"

"Well, she may show up yet, so-"

"Oh, come off it, Walloon. It's a simple question." Guldenhorf broke in. "Did Karin even inform you that she wouldn't be here today? Yes or no?"

"…as far as we knew, Lady Valliere would be coming today."

"Which means your answer is no. You see?" Guldenhorf proclaimed as he turned to the hall, "It's that simple. Karin didn't tell her allies. She didn't tell us. She didn't tell Mazarin. She told no one. Absolutely no one at all that she would not be here. For a reason which we know absolutely nothing about. It may be a grave and important reason, but unless she's dead or gravely injured, there is absolutely no reason she can't inform us. Even then, a servant could likely tell us of those news.

This is not a person who can be expected to listen to the demands of the nobility. This is not a person who can be expected to rule with justice, with mercy, and with temperance. This is not a person who we can expect to be the next Queen of Tristain when you consider the power she already wields!"

The room seemed to echo in silence as it absorbed Guldenhorf's proclamations. However, Mazarin cleared his throat and began to reply.

"Well, Guldenhorf. What about the proposal I advanced earlier? The one where the Lady Valliere would not take the throne, but in exchange-"

"Rejected." Guldenhorf flatly stated.

"What?" The cardinal gasped. "But you told me you would have no problem with it!"

"I told you I would consider it. Nothing more. And after consideration with my allies, I personally came to the conclusion that it will fix nothing. Mazarin, a throne where Karin sits behind it and manipulates a puppet like Eleanor or Cattleya is just as dangerous as one where she sits on the throne herself."

"But a Valliere must take the throne!" Gramont shouted. "There is no other way to rule this country. I understand your concerns, Guldenhorf, but Brimir's will dictates that she must rule. What is the alternative, Guldenhorf?"

"My colleagues and I have advanced an alternate proposal." Guldenhorf said as he nodded towards Wardes and then Kundera. "We believe that if Karin would give up approximately three-fourth of Valliere lands and passed it into the hands of select nobles, that would be fine and she could take the throne. Obviously, such a proposal would be dependent on her acceptance, which is why her failure to appear is so outrageous!"

"By 'select nobles', you mean yourself, do you not?" Walloon asked.

"That would be a matter for negotiation." Guldenhorf shrugged. "A proposal like that would be sufficient to prevent tyranny, from my perspective."

"But that's ridiculous!" A lesser noble argued. "Duke Guldenhorf, what Gramont says is correct. You may complain about Valliere tyranny or something like that, but you still have yet to propose a serious alternative. You won't let her take the throne without losing nearly her entire estate? Karin will never accept that, and you know it. It seems to me that you just want to prevent Karin from having the throne, but you have yet to propose an alternate king. Do you suggest you should rule? Because if you do, you should know perfectly well that no one will accept you!"

The hall fell into silence as the nobles waited for Guldenhorf's retort. Guldenhorf looked from one end of the hall to another. Most of them were angry, tired at being dragged out into a conference that the most important figure there had seemingly abandoned. It was clear, more than ever, that most just wanted a fair, just, and equitable solution.

And so Guldenhorf finally made his true proposition.

"If Karin truly shows herself to be an untenable ruler, I would suggest we rule."

"What?"

Walloon rose from his chair, his right hand jingling with the rings and jewelry upon it. But Guldenhorf, with a stare of determination, repeated himself.

"We rule. We, the nobility, can rule the country together. As an oligarchy."

"T-that's ridiculous, Guldenhorf!" Gramont shouted. "An oligarchy? A government must be led by one. One country, one people, one king. That is what our fathers did, and their fathers did before them. Are we to literally lose everything that they worked for just because you won't accept that Karin will be a capable queen?"

"Capable? She is not capable! If she was, she would be here. If she was, she would answer to us and not seek to destroy our privileges which our fathers have fought for! Our fathers never endorsed the monarch of Helgekinia doing whatever he desired!"

"The monarchy is Brimir's gift to the people!"

"That is not true!"

Their faces red and splotchy with anger alike, Guldenhorf, Gramont, and Walloon began to argue and yell at one another. At the same, the other nobles also devolved into a hullabaloo as they quickly took sides on what Guldenhorf had stated. The vast majority seemed to be infuriated by his proposition, but others quickly began to lambast Karin.

"Please, for the love of Brimir, stop!"

Mazarin attempted to shout to quell the arguments, but it proved futile. The loud arguments and angry yells continued. Mazarin looked at the Duke of Wardes to get his aid in quieting the nobles down. Yet while the old man had not joined in the shouting, he had made no move to quell it as he sat in his chair, and an imperceptible grin on his wrinkled face told Mazarin all he needed to know about the Duke's feelings on the brouhaha. Thus, Mazarin glanced over at the one other person in the room who was not participating in the arguments.

General Bonaparte had not said a word throughout the past hour, nor had he even opened his eyes in the past few minutes. Yet even at a distance, Mazarin could tell that he had not actually fallen asleep. Every now and then, he craned his head slightly, as if to better listen to the direction of the arguments.

Out of desperation, Mazarin walked towards the general out of the hope that maybe he could quiet down the overwhelming ruckus. But before he could reach Napoleon, the general's eyes shot open. He glanced down at his hand for a moment and then looked at the table, and then at the continually arguing crowd of nobles.

Then without a word or a hint of farewell, Mazarin watched Napoleon quietly leave the table and slip out of the doors of the palace.

…

About twenty minutes later, a carriage pulled up in front of Napoleon's home. The general got out and rushed into the house. Inside the parlor stood Louise, Matilda and…

"Well, you got here rather quickly, General Bonaparte. Just how did you know that I had arrived?"

The Duchess Karin sat on a chair. Her hand clenched her wand as she glared daggers at Bonaparte.

In response to her question, Napoleon raised his left hand. Even though it currently held nothing, the Gandalfr runes glowed.

"At the end of the day, I am a familiar. This means that I know when Louise believes she is in danger. Combine that with the fact that you weren't at the conference today and it doesn't take a genius to figure out what happened.

At any rate, I thought you told me you wouldn't go after Louise."

Karin looked over at Louise. The younger girl visibly twitched as she received her mother's gaze, but she held her head up high and looked directly back at Karin.

"So, you think you're in danger?" Karin mused.

It was almost as much of a statement as it was a question, and so Louise did not respond. But after a few moments, Karin broke her gaze and looked over at Napoleon.

"I am not here for Louise. She is no longer relevant to me. She is no longer a member of the Vallieres nor is she a noble. She may still be a powerful mage, but that does not concern me."

"So I'm guessing you're here for me, then?"

Karin looked directly at Napoleon. Her gaze was as steely and resolute as normal. But she made no effort to even conceal her trembling hand as it clutched her wand, and Napoleon noticed something on her face. Two long lines that moved from the corner of her eyes down to her cheeks.

"Are those tear tracks-"

With a burst of speed, the Heavy Wind rocketed out of her chair. Even if he had had a weapon in his hand, Napoleon would have never stood a chance. She grabbed him by his neck and slammed him down onto the parlor floor with all of her power.

"Napoleon!"

Louise shrieked and tried to run to him, but Matilda extended an arm to block her way. The young girl, her expression horrified, looked at her servant, but she could tell what Matilda wanted to say.

_Do not move. You will be killed._

As Louise moved behind Matilda, Karin kneeled over Napoleon and pointed her wand at his neck.

"Why did you do it?"

Napoleon flopped his hands besides his neck in a gesture of surrender. However, his response gave absolutely no impression that he was even slightly terrified of his position.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"YES YOU DO!"

An orb of magic, powerful enough to take off his head, began to glow from Karin's wand.

"For Brimir's sake, I want the truth! Why did you do it? Why did you order her to kill him?"

"'Her?' Are you talking about Louise?"

"You know who! That… that girl, she…she…"

Karin gritted her teeth as she looked at Napoleon. Another tear fell down her cheek as she attempted to regain her composure. However, she finally gave up as she roared her answer.

"That maid who killed my husband! You knew about her, Napoleon! You knew what she had with her! None of the other nobles did! If someone ordered her to kill the Duke of Valliere, it was YOU!"

A body collapsed onto the floor, and both Napoleon and Karin were dimly aware of Matilda bending down to try to revive Louise. However, at this point they only had eyes for each other. One of fury, the other of detached confusion.

"Oh, _her._" Napoleon calmly stated. "Well, who says I gave her an order? Maybe she decided to do it herself."

"That's ridiculous! I took care of her and her family! Gave her everything she wanted! There is no way she could have even done something like take out my husband, much less be willing to lose everything to do that! So for the last time, why and how did you order her to do that? You had better explain yourself or I will obliterate you from this world, Bonaparte!"

The orb of magic grew even larger. Napoleon could feel the heat of its energy as it singed its cheeks. However, he still remained calm as he responded.

"You really may not want to do this, Karin."

"Oh really?" She coldly responded. "Why not? Do you honestly think that the fact that you have a spot on the Council will protect you? Guldenhorf and Wardes may like you for some reason, but at the end of the day, I'm a noble and you're a commoner, a criminal at that who ordered my husband's death. Those nobles will gripe for some time, but eventually their anger will die down soon enough."

"Well, perhaps that may be true normally, Karin, but I think you may be underestimating just how angry the rest of the entire nobility are at you right now. Even Gramont and Walloon are pretty irritated with what you did today, you know?"

"What?"

"What do you mean 'what'? You apparently negotiated with Mazarin to restart negotiations, only to not show up at the last minute? And your only motivation to do that is to kill me? No one's going to be happy with you after that, especially since their major concern is your inability to keep calm.

Besides, I can tell you Karin, I had nothing to do with that girl. She isn't worth my time."

The orb of magic fizzled away. Karin's face now radiated total confusion as she stepped off of Napoleon. The general did not move from his posture of submission as she began to mutter to herself.

"But that's impossible. I know I…how could he not have…did I actually…"

She then finally looked down at Napoleon.

"Are you telling me they don't know? None of them?"

"Of course not." Napoleon responded. "How could they? I had no idea myself until you told me just now. Do you honestly expect the nobles and me to know about what happened at your estate before you did?"

"But that doesn't make sense! I-"

"Anyways, the point is that as far as Guldenhorf and the others are concerned, you walked out on them again. And even if you do have a very good reason for not attending, they are really angry over how you didn't tell them. Killing me in retaliation, especially when you really have no proof whatsoever that I had anything to do with your husband's death, will not help."

Karin stared daggers at Napoleon in response. She looked around the parlor, which had taken a fair amount of damage from the speed which she had launched herself from her chair, then at Louise, and finally back at Napoleon. At last, she finally stowed her wand back into pocket.

"I don't know how you did it, Bonaparte. But I know you did it. You killed my husband. And when the Vallieres take the throne, the first thing I'll do will be to send you off to the most boring, pathetic place for you to guard and spend the rest of your miserable life.

Anyways, the news will get out eventually, so I'll let you know. I'm going home for a few days. I have to attend to my husband's body, prepare a proper funeral for him and figure out the future of my family. Until I return, I guess negotiations will have to be delayed. I'm sure that you will have no problems with that, General?" She stated with a voice dripping with disgust and sarcasm.

"Of course not." Napoleon said. "I will take care to pray for your husband's soul. And I hope that the negotiations resume as quickly as possible. Neither of us has much time left to do what we believe to be necessary, after all."

"Don't compare me to you." Karin spat. "I am doing what is necessary for this country. You are doing what is necessary for yourself. That will always be the difference between us and that is why I will prevail. Justice is on my side."

With those parting words, Karin left the parlor. As he heard the front door slam, Napoleon calmly got off of the parlor floor and looked over at Louise. The girl had still not recovered from hearing the news of her father.

"Is she all right?" He asked Matilda.

She nodded.

"Her breathing is fine, and her pulse is normal. Just in shock from well, you know…"

"Yeah."

The two remained silent for a moment as they both looked at Louise. But then Napoleon finally began to continue.

"Still, while my back may disagree, I guess I'm glad this confrontation happened. Karin has no reason to go after Louise, and she can't kill me now without angering the rest of the nobles. That means that the only immediate threat is whatever the younger Wardes and Joseph are up to."

Matilda nodded. Her hands rested around Louise's neck as she continued to feel her breathing.

"Should I take up to her bed?"

"That would be a good idea." Napoleon said. "But Matilda, can you stay by her side? She's been through a lot and needs to have someone for her when she wakes up. A shoulder to cry on."

"What about you?"

"There's something I need to deal with right now especially after that confrontation." Napoleon responded. "I will be back shortly."

He reached for his hat and put it on, but then he looked over at Louise. He stared at his partner for a few moments before he walked across the room and tousled her hair.

"Make sure she is all right." He said to Matilda.

Without waiting for a response, he adjusted his hat once more and left his house.

…

The hour had grown late since the conference and his confrontation with Karin. There was serenity in the quietness of the streets, though Napoleon inwardly grumbled to himself as the carriage maneuvered through narrow road after dark alleyway. He had always wanted to reform and rebuild Paris ever since he had ruled it, to create an organized and proper city with wide streets and an end to debilitated and broken-down buildings. But he had never had the time to actually do it, given how much time he had to spend outside of the city and his country.

He leaned forward as the carriage finally reached the street he had been looking for. Halfway down the block lay Giono's print shop. Napoleon exited the carriage and paused for a moment to straighten his uniform before he walked inside.

A few minutes later, he rested in a comfortable chair in front of a roaring fireplace. In a second chair sat Giono. The printer poured a cup of wine and handed it to Napoleon before he poured another for himself.

"I see you've taken some time to improve your living accommodations." Napoleon said as he looked around. "You managed to expand your room and get some new furniture. I'm glad to see you're doing well."

"Oh, it's nothing, Napoleon." Giono laughed. "I can afford a little luxury and a better bed for myself at least, especially for an old man like me. But that's not important. You saw the walls of my shop when you entered, did you not?"

"Well, I noticed that you had been knocking them all down. So you finally decided to expand, then?"

"Well, I do need some more machines in here. Besides, you couldn't have known yet, but I also bought the building across the street. As you pointed out, what good are newspapers and pamphlets if no one can read them? So I intend to create a school for anyone and everyone!"

"For everyone? Really?" Napoleon repeated.

"Well," Giono shrugged. "Anyone and everyone who can pay, that is. I don't have the money to hire teachers and organize classes while the kid's parents contribute nothing. But I know I'm offering rates that are far better than anyone else in this city. As a printer, I understand the importance of education."

He took a moment to quaff his glass before he excitedly pressed on.

"I'm telling you, Napoleon, it's a wonderful cycle. More people learn to read, they buy newspapers and pamphlets which I make. They read them aloud to their friends and family, and now they will want to learn to read too which will make them into more potential customers. And all at the same time, my business expands and people learn about Andre Giono. Even my peak before this was nothing compared to what I can do. And of course the more people know me…"

He smiled at Napoleon. The general also grinned as he completed the sentence for Giono.

"The stronger your intelligence network becomes, as you use sources to write your newspapers."

Napoleon looked over at Giono's right side. The printer sat next to a small wooden table, and on top of it rested a letter.

"So, Giono. Why don't you hand that over to me?"

"Sure thing, Napoleon." Giono laughed. "Have to admit, it's a shame. That Valliere seal really is something fancy."

Napoleon took the letter and turned it around. A wax seal consisting of a pentagram and an inscription remained unbroken.

"I'll admit, I really didn't think you could pull it off." Napoleon observed. "Your network has become quite something, Giono. To be able to get me the news of the Duke's death before even Lady Valliere receives it is truly impressive."

"That said," he continued as he waved the letter. "You really were willing to nick this letter before Mazarin could receive it? That really is courage right there. If they ever figured who got their hands on it, it could be problematic for you."

"Oh, come now, Napoleon." Giono stated. "I know how to cover my tracks. Sure, I had to pay off one or two people to make sure that I received this instead of Mazarin, but they don't even know who they gave this to. And honestly, it was your plan and so far it's working. The nobles are now even angrier that the Lady Valliere did not tell them she would not show up at the negotiations todays without writing to them in advance. Of course, she intended to. She wrote to Mazarin to tell him what had happened to her husband as well as her intention to not attend out of mourning. I just got the letter instead.

Besides, I know what I'm getting myself into, Napoleon. It's for a good cause. I may not know as much as you do and I normally would not care too much who runs this country. But what I do know is that anyone who treats their children like she did to poor Louise does not deserve to run the country anyways. That's some common sense for you."

Napoleon nodded and held up the letter into the firelight. He took a moment to read the inscription on the Valliere seal.

"In doing what we ought we deserve no praise, because it is our duty." He murmured. "Quite a forbidding statement, wouldn't you think?"

"No kidding," Giono snorted. "Guess it suits a person like Lady Valliere perfectly. At any rate, shall we read it? Obviously I have not."

"There's no need. Giono, we both already know what's inside."

Without even opening the letter, Napoleon tossed it into the fire. Giono raised his eyebrow at the gesture, but then he shrugged and sagged a little more into his chair.

"Well, I guess you're right. Still, I'll admit I'm shocked at what happened. So the Duke of Valliere was killed? By a mere maid?"

Giono shook his head at the thought, but then he looked at Napoleon. Napoleon continued to stare into the fire, but his left hand opened and closed continuously. He finally closed it and raised it up a few centimeters, almost as if he was prepared to slam it onto his armrest. But at last, he laid his hand down on his lip.

"That blasted girl." He finally ground out through his teeth. "What the devil is she thinking?"

"I have no idea myself. From what my sources told me, she was ranting about destroying the nobility or something insane like that. Just a crazy girl, nothing more."

"Even if she is just a crazy girl, it's important that a murderer like that should be taken down." Napoleon observed. "Do you think you can get some men to find her? We have to get to her before Karin does. The prestige that she would get from finding her husband's killer would definitely enhance her claim to the throne."

"I'm already on it." Giono stated. "But I haven't asked yet what you want me to do if when she is located? Capture her and bring her before the authorities for a trial?"

"No, kill her on sight. Fact is we're dealing with a mad dog here. They don't get trials."

"That's true, that's true. Definitely don't like Lady Valliere, but as I told you, I don't hate all the nobles. You wipe them all out, this country falls into chaos and we probably get conquered by Germania or Gallia. I don't think it will take that long to hunt her down."

Giono nodded with satisfaction and finished his glass. As the printer poured himself another, Napoleon took the time to think to himself.

He was highly irritated. The nobles would still be angry at Karin for supposedly walking out on them again, but a lot of that anger would be dissipated by sympathy for her in the aftermath of the Duke's death. In a sense, it was probably for the best, as he didn't want to delegitimize Karin _too_ much, but the nobles would also be less likely to listen to a commoner like himself so shortly after one of their peers was murdered by one.

Still, so far he had succeeded in deceiving everyone. Karin ironically accused him of a crime which he had no role in and would have preferred it had not happened, but it appeared that she hadn't realized what he had actually done. It really would not matter anyways if she did figure out the truth. Even if she told the nobles the truth that she had written to Mazarin, few would believe her. Giono's steadily expanding intelligence network was growing more and more powerful, but the old man's naivety and loyalty meant that Napoleon could trust Giono not to sell him out. Siesta had to be killed not because of some stuff about the nobility, but because at this point the girl knew too much. But Giono didn't need to know that. Guldenhorf in his arrogance was being completely led along the nose to the path that Napoleon had prescribed for him.

That didn't mean there were no problems. Karin was still incredibly powerful. Guldenhorf may be the worst kind of fool who thinks that he possesses intelligence when he does not, but the Duke of Wardes was a concern. He was clearly aiming for something even as he let Guldenhorf bluster, but as he was currently an ally, Napoleon had to let him be. And beyond them lurked the threat of Gallia. If Napoleon had to guess, Joseph was probably going to attack Tristain as well, but was waiting for the debate over the Crown to resolve itself before he made his move. Still, Napoleon knew he needed to get ready before he could make Tristain ready to face down that crazy actor king.

And Louise? He had guessed that Karin in her shock and grief would likely confront him alone to avoid noble interference. In order to handle that, he had left Louise behind for exactly that reason so that he could use the Gandalfr runes as a warning system for when Karin appeared. That had been a calculated risk. He predicted that Karin would not desire to speak to her exiled daughter, but if Louise ever realized that Karin did not write that letter to keep her off the battlefield at Saxe-Gotha, that could become a serious danger at this stage. There was also the simple fact that he hadn't quite told the truth to Louise or Giono about his finances. He, after all, was helping out with the funding of the printer's intelligence network, and one could not do that and care for Louise, Matilda and himself on just a general's salary.

Still, most things were generally going to plan. Karin would probably only be gone for a few days. It would largely be up to her decisions if things were to escalate in the right direction, but from everything Napoleon had divined from her personality, it would work. Destiny would make it work.

He tipped back the glass of wine as he congratulated himself. The negotiations would resume in a few days. Until then, he would wait and see what webs the Fates would spin for him now.


	39. The Emperor: Chapter 12

She had wanted to be a knight.

She remembered the fear she had felt as a young girl. She had been dared by her sister to pick a flower at the top of the cliff. She succeeded, but upon plucking it, she realized just how high the fall was. In her panic and fear, she had nearly toppled over the cliff.

But she had been saved. A manticore knight who happened to pass by realized the peril of the maiden and bodily dragged her away from the cliff. When he heard her story, he taught her a spell.

"Write the word 'courage' on your hand and lick it. That will give you the strength you need to accomplish great deeds."

The young girl nodded, her eyes shining. As she looked upon the knight on his great steed and with his proud smile, she knew right then, that she wanted to be like that man. She wanted to be a knight and fight evildoers and those who threatened her country.

Her parents demurred. They told her that it was not proper for a woman to become a knight. But when she told them that she would become a knight whether they approved or not, they finally relented. But her father had given her a warning. If she was to truly become a knight, he said, she must not be concerned with wealth or glory or pride, but rather with courage and duty. Above all, she must always do the right and honorable thing regardless of the immediate consequences.

Unfortunately, she ignored her father's words. The very first thing she did upon her arrival in Tristania was to pick a fight with a man who flirted with some other unrelated girls. She dressed like a man, gambled, drank, and insulted commoners and prestigious knights alike. She was challenged to many duels, but she was a magical prodigy, and so never, ever lost. She succeeded at many missions and won an increasing amount of fame and glory as her name became known across the land.

But he was with her from the beginning, living with her almost from the moment she had moved to the capital. He had been the complete opposite of her. While she picked fights, laughed, and caroused, he stayed in his quarters, drank wine, and read. He was confused by the habits of this good-looking young man who possessed a massive propensity for violence. She in turn, could not stand someone like him who seemed to shy away from the honor of the fight.

From there, the story wrote itself. They participated in several missions over the years, saving the country and the people from foul villains and sorcerers. They grew closer together. It took a long time, but he eventually discovered that his partner, fair and beautiful in face yet far superior to him in magic, was a woman. Without any hint of embarrassment on his part for fighting alongside a woman, he only asked her why she had chosen to conceal her gender.

Her response was to kiss him full on the lips. He kissed back.

They would marry three years later. She pledged herself to him, and he to her. They swore to be together "til death do us part," and raised a family. Three girls were born, two of them beautiful and charming, the third a failure and a dishonorable traitor. But even with that child, she remembered the joy of a mother as she had cradled her third newborn infant in her arms.

And now, 23 years and 73 days from the day when they had exchanged their vows, Karin Desiree de la Valliere returned to her estate to bury the man she had loved.

He had not died gloriously or honorably in battle, nor had the unfortunate tragedy of sickness laid him low. She had read the reports that both Jerome and Cattleya had sent her. He, a fellow knight who had wanted to help people like she had, had been stabbed in the heart by someone who he had saved.

He had returned to manage the estate while Karin dealt with the political mess in the capital. When he arrived, the maid, Siesta, had appeared in the hall with her clothes covered in blood. She stumbled and collapsed, and the Duke sent Jerome to find medical supplies while he tended to her and asked if she was fine. He rushed up to her, no doubt his face panicked with worry over her…

And she had betrayed him with a knife. No, Karin corrected herself, that was not completely correct. She didn't care what General Bonaparte had told her the day she left the city. He had to be responsible. She just could not fathom it otherwise. Her husband had saved Siesta from certain death, cared for her siblings, and promised an education and a future for all of them. And he had been repaid by betrayal and death? Even after all the battlefields and death she had seen, Karin could not comprehend it.

Sure, she had heard of what Cattleya and Jerome had said. They had confronted Siesta immediately after the murder, but Cattleya had not brought her wand along out of concern for the supposedly injured maid. Facing no threat from either of them, Siesta had taken the time to rant about her motives.

She revealed that she blamed every single member of the nobility for what had happened to her family during the war between Albion and Tristain. According to her, it was the nobles who through their constant quarreling and infighting had caused the war which had ended the lives of her parents and most of her siblings. Thus, she declared herself to be an instrument of justice and revenge that would inflict righteous fury on every last noble family in retaliation. Not just for her family, but for every single commoner family which had suffered as a result of the war. And as she fled, she declared that she would not rest until every last noble had perished and a new world, one run by commoners alone, would form in its place.

Nevertheless, Karin still refused to hold Siesta solely culpable. General Bonaparte was a highly ambitious commoner and clearly had aspirations towards power. It made perfect sense to Karin that he could instill those ridiculous ideas into Siesta and persuade her to attack the family which had saved her life. For now, she could not go after him. But when the Vallieres would finally take the throne, she would mete out the appropriate punishment. If she decided to feel mercy, he would be merely reassigned to a place where he could do no harm. Otherwise, he and by extension his master and her daughter would be banished from Tristain forever.

The carriage finally came to a stop and Karin stepped out. Jerome had been waiting outside for his master, and he rushed to carry the bags as she strode into her home.

"Hello, Jerome." Karin calmly said. "Where is he resting now?"

"In the main hall, My Lady. Lady Cattleya and I have prepared a temporary casket for the Duke. A proper rosewood casket will arrive tomorrow."

"And Cattleya?"

"She is tending to Lady Eleanor. That…well, I believe I explained her situation as well."

Karin's lips tightened a little further at those words.

"Yes, you did, Jerome. I am glad that you told me."

She passed into the threshold and looked directly at her butler.

"I will head to see my husband and then I will talk with Cattleya. Jerome, take my things up to my chambers."

"Of course, My Lady." Jerome responded. "Still, should I prepare for any further guests to arrive and pay their respects?"

Karin shook her head.

"I am tired of dealing with the rest of the nobles, and the negotiations are not yet finished. Inviting them here would simply bring the squabble over the crown to my estate. They will not stop fighting with each other, even during a funeral. It would disgrace my husband to have his final farewell become the battleground of arguments and arrogant speeches.

No. I want a quiet, simple funeral. A ceremony where the family can say goodbye is all that I need."

"Yes, My Lady."

Jerome hoisted the bags up again once more and made his way up some nearby stairs. Karin watched him leave, and then without changing her expression, entered the main hall of the estate to see her husband.

…

About fifteen minutes later, Karin stood outside a door. She held her knuckles up to the door, but then drew them back for a moment. After taking a deep breath, she raised her hand and knocked on the door.

"It's open."

Karin pushed the door open. Cattleya sat beside a bed. She turned to look at her mother, but she made no effort to rise.

"It's good to see you, Mother." She said. "I'm glad you're safe. I couldn't help but worry about you after everything that had happened."

Karin opened her mouth, to tell her daughter that there was nothing to worry about. She was the Heavy Wind, the most powerful mage in Tristain. Theoretically, there was nothing which could kill her in battle.

But theoretically, Siesta would not have lasted five seconds in a battle against her husband as well. So rather than saying anything, Karin looked at the person lying on the bed.

"How is she, Cattleya? Has she recovered?"

Cattleya also looked over at her elder sister. A waft of hair over Eleanor's mouth moved from her breathing. Yet while that soft tuft of air indicated that she was alive, her hair moved slightly to reveal a black eye patch which covered what had once been her right eye. Karin also saw that Eleanor's arms bore the scars of numerous knife wounds.

Cattleya hesitated as she stared at her sister for a moment longer, but she finally gave her response.

"She'll live. The doctors said she should regain consciousness in a few days. According to them, there is a small chance that she may relapse and perish, but Eleanor is strong. She'll almost certainly survive.

But she lost a lot of blood, mother. It likely damaged her brain and some of her other organs. We have no idea what state of mind she'll be in when she finally wakes up, or if she will even remember anything that happened to her. On top of that, her muscles are wrecked from what happened to her. They told me that there's a very real possibility that Eleanor will never be able to walk again."

Cattleya finished her report without even turning around to look at her mother. Karin didn't know what to say. Eleanor, above all, had been her pride. Louise had been a failure. Cattleya, while a gentle, wonderful girl and a capable mage, was limited by her constant illnesses. But Eleanor had no such limitations. Sure, she continually had problems with fiancés and suitors due to her irritable temper, and Karin had continually lectured her about the importance of following the Rule of Steel and acting as a proper noble. But as a mage and a mother, Karin had always felt that Eleanor would have been the next successor to the Valliere name and honor.

And now all of that had been ripped away.

Still, Karin took a moment to clear her mind. Those regrets were not appropriate right now. The important thing was…

"Do you know exactly what happened to her, Cattleya? We do basically know what happened to her, but what about the details?"

"I still really don't know what happened in the library." Cattleya answered. "I saw Eleanor head in that direction that afternoon on that day. I think she wanted to take a look at the books which Siesta had been working on. She entered, but then she saw what Siesta had done to the room."

Karin grimaced at those words.

"You told me Siesta destroyed the library."

"If I had to guess, I don't think she did it completely." Cattleya said. "She talked about destroying the nobles. Those books would be useful. I'm sure she took some when she fled."

"She talked like that on General Bonaparte's orders. Nothing more."

"Well, then Bonaparte ordered her to smuggle the books out, then." Cattleya said.

But it looks like while she translated a few books for us, she destroyed the rest of the library. The library had a fireplace for cold days. I guess she burned most of them and ripped apart the rest she did not intend to keep with her own hands. Eleanor discovered what Siesta had been doing when she entered the library-"

"And Siesta took her by surprise, then?"

"Only Eleanor can tell us exactly what happened, Mother." Cattleya stated. "But Siesta attacked her. Stabbed her with a knife at least a dozen times. You can see the marks on her arms, and there's more on the rest of her body. It's a miracle that she was still alive by the time I found her in the library. Somehow, Siesta didn't hit anywhere vital during her attack. I know it's horrible, but I know Brimir must have been protecting Eleanor the whole time."

Cattleya paused for a moment to wipe a tear which dripped down her cheek. But then Karin asked a question.

"I count eight stab wounds on Eleanor's arms, Cattleya. You dressed her initial wounds. Do you have an idea how many times she was attacked altogether?"

"What?" Cattleya hiccupped. "I don't know, it was too terrifying. I guess at least twenty, maybe thirty. Why are you asking?"

Karin didn't answer. But her mind began to ponder a possibility. Of course, Brimir had likely protected her daughter from Siesta's wrath. But Eleanor had been stabbed at least twenty times, numerous times in her chest, and yet Siesta had never hit a vital spot in her attack. Furthermore, Siesta had left Eleanor alone in the library for a long period of time while she attacked the Duke. Despite all of these factors, her daughter was still alive.

So while a part of her wanted to fall to her knees and thank Brimir for this miracle like Cattleya had done, another part couldn't help but wonder.

_Is it possible that Siesta intentionally made sure not to kill Eleanor?_

At that moment, someone knocked on the door again, but it was opened without waiting from a response. It was the doctor who had been attending to Eleanor.

"Oh, my apologies, Lady Valliere. I did not know you were in here."

"There's nothing with it." The Duchess said. "Is there something you need?"

"Well, I want to examine Eleanor once more. Just make sure everything is fine with her. Of course, you're more than welcome to stay here and watch me work."

Karin looked at the doctor and back to Cattleya.

"No," she finally said. "We will leave. Cattleya, there is something I need to discuss with you now anyways."

Cattleya nodded. The pair got up and left, the daughter dutifully trailing after the mother.

…

A few minutes later, they both sat in Karin's study. It was a sparse, empty room that only contained a desk, a pair of chairs and a shelf of books. No personal touch or objects of sentimental value were in here, aside from a pot of steaming hot tea that rested on a nearby mantle. As Karin took a moment to pour a cup for both of them, Cattleya leaned back in her chair. Her seat had no armrest, but out of nowhere, a squirrel jumped up and held up a white cat which perched itself under her arm.

"Mother, what is it? I know whatever it is that you want to talk to me about, you think it's absolutely critical. In fact, I don't think you've ever invited me in here before."

"It is important, Cattleya." Karin said. "It's about the future of this country. Your father's death changes everything."

"How?"

"Because it was your father who had the bloodline to succeed to the throne." Karin responded. "Not me. I could probably push for the throne as his widow if I wanted to, but that's manipulating the law. I would rather not do that unless I believe that I have no other choice.

Cattleya, with your father dead, the throne goes to you."

Cattleya's eyes widened with shock and surprise.

"M-me?!" She stammered. "Why me? I mean, Eleanor's alive! She should be the one to take the throne, not I!"

"There's no time. You said it yourself. We have no idea whether Eleanor will recover, when she will recover, or even what state she will be like if she wakes up. Tristain's already waited too long for a monarch to succeed Princess Henrietta."

"She will recover, Mother. I know it! If we can just wait a little longer and-"

"No you DON'T!"

Cattleya jumped in her seat as Karin slammed her fist on the desk. The pot of tea jumped slightly and a little spilled onto the floor. Karin looked at the mess with a momentary look of disgust and irritation before she turned back to her daughter.

"I am sorry. I should not have done that. But you don't know that, Cattleya. There is only one being who knows what Eleanor will be like when she recovers, and it is heresy for you to declare that you can speak directly to Brimir. Be careful of what you say."

Cattleya grimaced at those words.

"But that's not the only problem! Mother, I shouldn't have the throne! What about Eleanor? Who would take care of her if she's still in poor health?"

"I took care of Eleanor when she was a young girl." Karin responded. "I can do it again."

"But then what about my health? I'm not an idiot, Mother. You've tried the best doctors in Helgekinia, but they can't seem to do anything about my condition. I'm still coughing up blood. I know perfectly well that if I'm alive in 10 years from now, it'll be a miracle. How can a person like me deal with the stresses of the throne, and what will happen when I am gone?"

"You would probably have to marry another nobleman when you took the throne and produce an heir. That would ensure the long-term viability of the monarchy. As for your health, it's not about your capability, Cattleya. There are advisors and nobles who would be willing to help you rule. But we need the bloodline of the Valliere Royal Family to rule this country. I do not have it. You do. That is why you have to take it."

"But then why not-"

Cattleya abruptly stopped herself mid-sentence as her eyes lit up. She glanced at the wall and then gazed down at the floor, her mind clearly hard at work ponder about something. For some reason, Karin felt an odd sense of dread as she watched her daughter think.

"I possess the right to refuse to take the throne, correct?"

She asked that question slowly. Karin knew she was probing for something, but she had no idea what it was. For now, she responded truthfully.

"Yes," she conceded. "If you did that, I guess control would default back to me. But I would prefer for that to not happen. Cattleya, you should be the one to take the throne through your bloodline. Not I."

Cattleya sat back in her chair and pursed her lips at that statement. For a few minutes, neither mother nor daughter said anything as the latter continued to think. But after a while, Cattleya looked back at her mother.

"Alright then. I will take the throne."

Karin inwardly breathed a sigh of relief at that announcement.

"That's excellent." She said. "Don't worry, Cattleya. I can let you stay here a while longer and take care of Eleanor. When the funeral is over, I will go back to Tristania and arrange your ascendance to the throne and find a suitor for you and-"

"On one condition."

Karin stopped midsentence. She slowly, carefully looked at her daughter.

"What is it?"

"Bring Louise back. End her exile."

Silence reigned in the Duchess's study as Karin heard those words. Her mouth dropped just a centimeter open.

"What?"

"Mother, you heard me."

"W-w-wait a moment." Karin stammered. "Cattleya, you cannot be serious."

Cattleya's eyes turned steely as she stared at her mother.

"I am deadly serious and I will not negotiate on this. I will not take the throne unless you end Louise's exile."

"W-what are you talking about? You can't expect me to bring Louise back! She has not even made the slightest effort to atone for her sin! In fact, she continues to stay with her familiar who has schemed against me this entire time. And you want her back? We can't even trust her to remain loyal to the family anymore!"

"You didn't even tell Louise why you exiled her, Mother. In fact, I don't even know why myself. But I honestly don't care what the reason is. Louise could have strangled Princess Henrietta to death with her bare hands, and I would still forgive her."

"What? Cattleya, Louise is a Valliere. How could you forgive her for her crim-"

"Because she is my sister, Mother." Cattleya interrupted. "I love Louise more than life or all of my animals. I know she's falling into darkness. My sister has no business in politics or war, and yet she gets dragged into those matters over and over again. It worries me and I want to save her from it. Louise deserves a happy, peaceful life.

And no matter what she does, I will always forgive her. Always. Mother, I want you to do the same. Please forgive Louise for her transgressions and restore her status."

"But what about the family?" Karin stated, her voice quavering. "The Vallieres chose to exile Louise, not the other way around. Perhaps I could understand this if Louise had chosen to left, but for the family to concede that she can return? It would be a massive dishonor on the Vallieres, on our name! You want to destroy that which your father and I worked for years to create, Cattleya!"

"Possibly, yes I would."

"So how can you-"

"Because I want my sister back." Cattleya repeated. "Dishonor can be recovered. The Valliere family can regain its status. But Louise will not return unless this family does something.

That's all. I'm sorry, Mother, but I value her more than I value the Valliere name. So I will not negotiate. Bring Louise back, or I will refuse to take the throne."

Karin drew back in her chair, her face barely concealing her panic and virtual despair at what her daughter had proposed. But her daughter's eyes remained firm as they retained their message.

"Are you sure about this, Cattleya?" Karin finally murmured. "Are you really prepared to wreck the Valliere name for what you desire? Can you honestly tell me that with a straight face?"

"If that's what you want to call it." Cattleya said. "I will do anything for her, Mother."

Karin did not say anything. She lowered her face and stared at the ground without a response. For a few minutes, the only sound in the room was that of a clock ticking.

WHOOSH.

Suddenly, Karin's hand then swung abruptly towards the teapot as if she desired to swat it away, but her hand stopped centimeters away from the object. Cattleya drew her breath slightly back. If Karin had actually hit the teapot, it and its contents would have been flung directly into Cattleya's face. Karin slowly looked up towards her daughter, no longer bothering to hide her emotions.

"Well done, Cattleya." Karin hissed. "You got what you wanted. You dishonored the family and will make me look like a fool in front of the rest of the nobility, but I'll bring her back. Once you take the throne, I'll bring Louise back into the family. Don't worry. I will take care to treat her like a proper daughter as well.

Now get out of my sight. And aside from the funeral and arranging the details of your future throne, I don't want to see you at all."

Taking care to not break her expression, Cattleya nodded. The cat which had served as her armrest jumped onto her shoulder as she stood up. After a small bow towards her mother, she left the room.

Karin continued to sit in her chair and think. She knew she had plenty to do in order to secure her daughter's seat as there were a thousand little details to handle. But that was not what preoccupied her now.

She was tired of being humiliated over and over again. The nobles had insulted her when the negotiations had first begun. Mazarin had persuaded her to return, but then she learned of the news of her husband's death. She confronted General Bonaparte about it, only to learn that the letter that she had sent Mazarin explaining the situation had never arrived. That was the second time.

"And now my own daughter." She muttered to herself.

She had now been humiliated a third time by her own daughter, and this time the disgrace covered the Valliere name as well as herself. That was enough. She had had it with being made to look like a fool. As the head of the most powerful family in Tristain, she would not brook any further insults to herself or the family. She would arrange for Cattleya to take the throne. She would arrange for the proper laws to be carried out. And if Guldenhorf or Wardes or ANYONE tried anything ridiculous or to humiliate her or her family again, she would do what was necessary to instill some sense into them. There was nothing more that needed to be said.

…

Napoleon sat in the parlor, a book in his hand. It was a history of a famous Tristanian general who had lived more than 600 years ago. However, the tales of that man's exploits were barely worth reading. Even if he was on another world, Napoleon could guess when history was being marred by the desire to over emphasize the role which one had played in it, and this book had proven to be no exception.

But at this moment he had nothing better to do. For the first time since he had been summoned to this world, he had been bored. It had been almost a week and a half since Karin had attacked him. The negotiations had obviously been delayed while she returned to mourn her husband, but Napoleon had still been busy. Whether it was watching Louise continually get attacked by Matilda, having the time to explore Tristania and the High Quarter in detail, or even visiting the other nobles, he had been in a continual state of activity until now. But now he had to wait.

The door opened and his partner entered. Napoleon took a moment to eye her clothes. Louise continued to wear her former uniform, complete with the black cloak that was fastened with a pentagram seal. However, Matilda had seen fit to alter it slightly over the past days. She told Louise that to stow her wands in her pockets indicated her lack of preparation for a fight. It could take Louise several seconds for her to fish her wand out and point it at an enemy – and given her lack of physical protection, it was perfectly possible for her to be killed several times over in that timeframe.

Thus, she had sown a pair of straps for a wand to fit on the front of her master's shirt. The wand was held perpendicular to the ground, but the straps were strong enough to prevent her wand from falling into the ground. Louise could now easily access and draw her wand without rummaging through pockets and wasting several seconds that could have been used for casting spells. Napoleon couldn't help but note that as much as he had seen his partner fret about it, this proved to be a moment when her…girlish figure became an advantage. The design would have been impossible for most women he had seen in this land.

"Are you ready?" He asked.

Louise nodded.

"This is it, isn't it?" She quietly said. "I know the negotiations will restart today now that mother has returned, but I think this will be it. Things will come to a head."

"You think so?"

"Yes." Louise stated. "Call it woman's intuition. Or maybe the Void is telling me something. I don't know how I know."

Napoleon shrugged. In reality, he had felt the same thing. He had talked with Guldenhorf and the other nobles several times while Karin had been gone. They were growing impatient as well. While still a minority supported the idea, the Duke's proposal of an oligarchy was no longer quite as contentious as it had been when he had first introduced. This would likely be the day which determined who would take the throne, and who would have power.

"I'll take your word for it." He finally said to Louise. "Let's hope it ends well for both of us."

There was nothing more to say. Napoleon and Louise both checked themselves one more time and departed for the palace. As they walked out, Napoleon noted the clouds which covered the Tristanian sky.

…

_Click_.

The Duke of Wardes locked a door in his mansion and stowed the key in his wardrobes. He then drew in his breath and let out a long, deep whistle. After a moment, the white rat which had followed him scampered into the room and scurried up his shoulders. He took a moment to stroke its back and it shivered in delight.

"Alright, Lady. Let us watch the pawns play with their mundane matters."

…

"1, 2, 3!"

Robert de Gramont and another blonde-haired man groaned as they lifted their father and his wheelchair into the waiting carriage. Even as they strained, the old man remained stoic as his chair passed through the door and he was placed inside. The two men took a moment to catch their breath.

"Thank you, Vincent."

"Of course, brother. I have a good feeling about the conference. Father, I wish you the best."

Robert nodded towards the second eldest Gramont as he hopped into the carriage.

…

"Will you be going now, Father?"

As a servant fastened his cloak, the Duke of Guldenhorf looked behind him at his daughter. He knew that at times her haughtiness exceeded even what he viewed to be proper noble pride and decorum, but in front of her family, she understood hierarchy. And he was proud of that.

"Of course, Beatrice." He said. "I hope you enjoyed your vacation? I'm sorry I won't be able to see you return to the Academy."

"It's no matter. Father, I wish you the best of luck."

The Duke shook his head and tousled her head.

"Don't worry about me, Beatrice. But before you go, take care to make a donation to the church. It's always good to maintain Brimir's favor."

And with those words, he grabbed a jeweled cane that leaned on the wall and left his home.

…

"On the day when every person will be confronted with all the good he has done, and all the evil has done, he will wish for there to be a great distance between him and his evil."

Karin closed the prayer book and set it on a mantelpiece. She looked at a wall of her home. A painting of her husband and her, fresh in their wedding clothes, hung there.

"This is it. No more tricks, no more nonsense. Time to finish this."

She paused, straightened her dress, and left the room for the palace.

…

It was time for the last day. The day to determine the next ruler of Tristain. In the yet to be filled main hall of the Tristanian Palace, the future of the country would be decided.

And as the nobles, one commoner, and his exiled partner began to walk into the hall one by one, the skies above the city began to rain.


	40. The Emperor: Chapter 13

"_Ability is nothing without opportunity."_

_Napoleon Bonaparte_.

…

...

Even if she had foreseen that things would be tense today, Louise had completely underestimated how heavy the atmosphere in the palace would become.

There were guards everywhere. During the past meetings, none of the nobles had seemed to pay any attention to her partner bringing an exiled noble into the Great Hall, and Napoleon had not been the only one to bring in someone. General Gramont had brought one of his sons in to help him around earlier. As Louise looked up towards the high table, she once again saw Robert standing at attention behind his father.

But today, about half of the nobles had brought in someone to stand behind them. Louise could see that some of them were family relations, whether one of their siblings or children. However, just as many of these new arrivals were ordinary toughs, muscular figures with swords and other weapons dangling from their side. They adhered themselves with the same etiquette as everyone else in the hall while they rigidly stood at attention, but Louise observed that many of them shot short, suspicious glances at everyone else in the hall. While her mother, Guldenhorf, and Wardes did not carry a bodyguard with them, a young man with dark hair and a thin sword strapped to his belt stood behind the Duke of Walloon. He looked over at Louise and stared directly at her. Strong feelings emanated from that gaze, but it was not hatred, but rather something closer to contempt and pity.

The old her would have trembled and looked away, but Louise knew that she had to be strong now. The knife which Matilda had given her rested in her skirt pocket, and Louise grasped it to steady herself as she glared directly back at the young man. He raised an eyebrow in surprise at her gesture, but then with a small chuckle that only she noticed, he looked away from her and towards the Hall itself. Louise knew better than anyone else how small and insignificant what she had done truly was, but nevertheless congratulated herself on her victory.

Yet the additional guards were not the only indication of an air that felt as if it would ignite at the slightest spark. The interactions between the nobles had completely changed in comparison to the first day of the conference. Where before they had attempted to make conversation, however tepid and insignificant, now they merely stared at each other with eyes of suspicion. Sweat trickled off the brows of the less calm as they mopped their foreheads with rags. Even Walloon and Gramont on the high table appeared to be nervous. Karin and Guldenhorf by contrast appeared to be perfectly calm, while Louise noticed with considerable distaste that Wardes was trying but failing to keep a devious grin off of his face.

And directly in front of Louise, Napoleon sat with his arms folded in front of him, his face utterly blank. He almost seemed to ignore the crowd of nobles as he waited for the conference to begin. And as Mazarin finally stepped in front of the high table, the nobles shifted ever more restlessly as the Cardinal cleared his throat.

"My friends, my brothers." He began. "These are difficult and dark times. I know, perhaps better than anyone here, of the discord and strife which have entered our ranks. Avarice and envy are deadly tools through which the unity of our country can be broken, and thus I have seen arguments which have stalled the progress of these talks. As the mediator of these talks, my personal opinions and thoughts on these quarrels are of no importance except in one regard – that Brimir has taught us the importance of peace and of fellowship between ourselves.

Let us not forget, great nobles of Tristain, the responsibility and deeds which your position demands of you. You are the light and leaders of our fair country. It is through the example of your virtue and your courage that Brimir gave your forefathers the gifts of magic and wisdom. I beg all of you to use them well and work together create a bright future for our land. Let us have peace and tranquility for all of Tristain, compromise with one another, and determine the next leader of this country."

He finished his speech and bowed in appreciation, but only a smattering of polite applause followed. It had not even died down before the Duke of Guldenhorf stood up.

"Thank you very much, Cardinal." He smoothly intoned. "I too, believe in the importance of ensuring that all of the nobles here today reach a consensus. We must present a united front. Tristain is a small country, surrounded by many enemies. In the aftermath of the horrible invasion from Albion, we are now more than ever aware of the importance of ensuring that the country is safeguarded.

However, Mazarin, there is a point in your speech that I feel must be slightly corrected. While there have been certain difficulties in the negotiations, the discussion to determine the future of this country has made significant progress. When we first sat down here, we did not possess even the slightest idea of who would rule this country. But now, I believe everyone in this room is generally aware of the options that lie before us. For while our country must work together to battle external threats, we must also be concerned about the possibility of destruction from within.

Either we can succumb to tyranny and the loss of our ancient rights, which our fathers and grandfathers worked to protect. Or we can work together to establish a fair and equitable system between us nobles and the crown. It is the creation of that system which must be the highest priority. Our rights must be protected, even if it may be necessary for us to take…extreme measures."

The nobles in the hall murmured amongst themselves in response to that last statement, but Guldenhorf did not let that perturb him as he continued.

"Of course, we should not speak of those things for now. As no one in this room wishes for any unfortunate events to befall any of us, I think I can declare that they are highly unlikely to occur as long as our rights are respected. But let us not forget that even the smallest mouse, with enough luck, courage, and aid from Brimir, can fell the mightiest lion.

That is all I have to say, and I shall now end my speech and defer to you, Lady Valliere. We all here know that it is up to you determine the future of this country. Would you kindly tell the nobility how you intend to protect us and all of Tristain in order to create a world where our rights are safeguarded?"

Guldenhorf gracefully bowed in Karin's direction, and many of the nobles on the lower tables, notably Count Kundera and Wardes, applauded while he did so. However, Karin made no effort to acknowledge Guldenhorf's gesture. She stood up automatically but instead of the other nobles, she looked in Louise's direction. For several long seconds, she stared directly at her daughter, her expression inscrutable.

"Lady Valliere? Do you have an offer?"

Guldenhorf did not look at what Karin was staring at, but a small frown crossed his face. Almost as if she hadn't heard the speech, Karin jumped slightly at Guldenhorf's repeated remark and then looked over at him.

"Yes," she finally said. "I do."

But she said nothing more as her gaze shifted back to Louise. Louise had successfully stared down the young man from earlier, but now she shifted about uncomfortably. Of course, being stared at by her own mother, the one who had exiled her, was frightening. But it was also confusing to Louise. Her mother had no reason to look at her during this important time.

The nobles began to whisper to each other as they observed Karin's silence, though like Guldenhorf, none of them seemed to notice who she was looking at. Finally, one of the nobles from the lower table stood up.

"What is the meaning of this, Lady Valliere?" He shouted. "Do you have an offer or not for how you intend to protect our rights? Or do you intend to mock us nobles by ignoring our questions?"

Once again, Karin seemed to awaken. She lightly slapped her own cheeks as she tore her gaze away from Louise and then cleared her throat.

"Of course," she declared. "This is an offer which I've gone to extensive lengths to secure and represents a great sacrifice on my end. I hope, Cardinal Mazarin, that it will be satisfactory for your definition of compromise."

Mazarin gave a small nod of appreciation, but Guldenhorf glowered at Karin's remarks. Her statement had made it perfectly that she cared little for his definition.

"Well, what is it, Karin?" He said with a polite smile. "I am sure that any proposal which you make will respect us as much as you have respected me throughout the beginning of this meeting."

"It is quite simple, Duke Guldenhorf." Karin said. "I will not take the throne. I will not exercise any power over the throne. Instead, my daughter, Cattleya Yvette La Baume Le Blanc de La Fontaine, will be the one to succeed to the throne. I would retire to manage the Valliere estate. Of course, I could communicate with my daughter if she so desired and simply because a mother should be allowed to speak to her daughter, but I would take care to avoid influencing her in a direction which would hurt Tristain.

I realize of course that there are concerns about her health. Thus, in order to ensure the long-term health of the throne, Cattleya would be required to marry before she became Queen of Tristain. It would be up to the nobles to select a husband, but no husband can marry my daughter without my approval, and she would still remain the main authority of power within Tristain as opposed to her husband. She is well-educated and intelligent, and thus I am confident that my daughter would be able to rule Tristain justly and equitably to both the nobles and commoners alike. "

She finished her statement and looked out over the hall. But a deep, long silence was the only response. No one said anything, and one nobleman's jaw dropped slightly open upon hearing Karin's offer. The Duchess's eyebrows creased in confusion at this reaction.

"Well, what is it?" She asked. "I believe that this is an excellent offer for the nobility and for you, Guldenhorf. I must admit that I would not approve of Cattleya marrying a Guldenhorf, even if you did have someone who could-"

"Is this a joke?"

"Excuse me?"

The lower nobles began to once again whisper amongst each other, but before any of them could say a word, Guldenhorf responded with a hoarse whisper.

"Is this offer your idea of a joke, Lady Valliere? Because this is not even remotely amusing to myself, to the other nobles, or to ANYONE IN. THIS. ROOM!"

His statement punctuated with an explosion of noise as his calm, loose demeanor fell away. Without waiting for a response for Karin, he continued.

"We already received that offer, Lady Valliere. Everyone in this room is aware of it. Even before your husband died, we had received an offer of Eleanor taking the throne instead of you. And if you had actually shown up on the second day of negotiations, you would have known that."

Karin visibly bristled at those words.

"Are you insulting the Valliere name, Guldenhorf!? You know perfectly well why I didn't come! It's because my husband DIED, for Brimir's sake!"

"We already know that, and as I told you the minute I learned about your husband's passing, Lady Valliere, you have my sincerest regrets and apologies. He was an honorable man. But you could have told us. Instead, you walked out on us and abandoned us while we waited for you!"

"But I-"

"Yes, yes, we all know what you are going to say." Wardes broke in. "You sent it, but it got lost in the process. That doesn't really change the fact that you had plenty of time to learn of our reaction to the offer of your daughters taking the throne. And now you go and offer it to us again? While calling it your new offer which you sacrificed a lot for?"

Karin visibly gnashed her teeth together as her eyes stared from Wardes to Guldenhorf, but she said nothing in response. Guldenhorf took the opportunity to continue.

"Furthermore, while you were gone, we've already discussed why we will not allow Eleanor or Cattleya to take the throne and leave it at that. It does nothing to solve our concerns of total Valliere control. And there is only one way to solve that problem."

"The plan where Lady Valliere hands over the estate to you?" Gramont sarcastically asked.

"It would be split among the nobility, Gramont. It is as Touraine suggested during the first meeting. Karin, it is quite simple. The Vallieres can hold on to their ancestral lands or they can rule. You cannot have both. That is the only way to safeguard the future of this country and our rights."

"From who?" Karin said.

"What?"

Karin sat down in her chair. She took a moment to adjust it so that it faced Guldenhorf's seat directly, and then she began to respond.

"I would first note, Guldenhorf that Touraine had suggested that I lose half of the Valliere lands, not all of them. The fact that that has changed to me indicates that you are merely adjusting the figures to a degree that you believe I won't accept."

"W-well, I didn't actually say all of it. Something more around the figures of three-quarters would-"

"Let me finish, _please."_ Karin interrupted. "Secondly, you have it backwards, Guldenhorf. You have always had it backwards when you stated that your fathers and grandfathers worked to secure your rights. All the noble families, whether Valliere or Guldenhorf or even Noyon, have acknowledged the greatness of the monarch, of how we fight to protect him above all. Every single one of us here took an oath to serve Princess Henrietta and protect her. We failed in that duty. All of us did, but especially for those who were in Albion."

She paused for a moment to look at some of the men who were in the hall. First at Touraine, then at a few of the other nobles, and then finally at Napoleon and Louise. Guldenhorf in the meantime regained his composure.

"Yes, Her Majesty is dead, but that is why we are here." He retorted. "What in the slightest does this have to do with protecting ourselves?"

"Because you may mourn Her Majesty's death, Guldenhorf, but you seem to have forgotten who she died protecting this country from. It was from Albion, from foreign invaders. That is who our threat lies against. A country as small as Tristain can barely hope to defend itself from Gallia or Germania, much less create a great empire. Even though the Albion war was short and our armies victorious, our country still suffered greatly. The murderer who slew my husband and who will someday face the arm of justice and Brimir? She was a victim. That does not excuse her horrible crimes, but it shows that now, more than over, that our country needs PEACE! And the Vallieres will provide it. We are the only ones who can provide it for this country!"

Karin slammed her fist on the table.

"You talk of extreme measures, Guldenhorf, but do not hide behind empty words and rhetoric. You mean war. You are willing to go to war, to tear this country apart once again even after the Albion conflict for your petty pride and arrogance! And you will weaken our lands and the people through your war. That, I will never brook nor will I accept. The Vallieres will rule, and you can accept it, Guldenhorf, or be cast aside when we take the throne!"

Many of the nobles burst into a thunderous applause at those words. Some rose up to indicate their approval, and Guldenhorf's expression appeared as if he had swallowed a lemon. Even Karin allowed herself an almost invisible smile at the reaction as she continued to watch her opponent stammer in confusion.

But then, as the applause began to die down, General Bonaparte stood up.

"That was an impressive speech, Lady Valliere." He smoothly noted. "But there are a few things which I admit that I am rather confused about."

She knew. Years of politicking and combat had served Karin well. She knew that there was a trap behind Napoleon's words, but she didn't know what.

She couldn't have. After all, in reality no error had been made. So she charged in and accepted his challenge.

"Well, what is it?"

"Remind me again, Lady Valliere. Earlier in your speech. Who did you say would be the ones to bring peace in Tristain?"

"I said that the Vallieres will provide peace, just as we always hav-"

"No, you didn't. I remember it clearly. You said you would. You said that you, Karin Desiree de la Valliere, would be the ones to provide peace for this country. Am I wrong?"

The crowd looked at each other in confusion at Bonaparte's remarks.

"Is this some idea of a joke, General Bonaparte?" Karin shouted. "I know perfectly well what I said, and I know I did not say that!"

"And I know perfectly well what I heard." Napoleon said. "You said that you would provide peace. Not the Vallieres. But is this only going to be true if you really intend to-"

"General Bonaparte, please." Cardinal Mazarin interjected. "I must admit that I did not hear what you heard. I only heard Lady Valliere talk about the importance of peace and of the necessity of a Valliere monarch. I am sure of it. And furthermore, even if she did, what importance does it make? It was just a slip of a tongue."

"And how truly certain about that are you, Cardinal?" Napoleon asked. "Would you swear on Brimir's name that that was Karin said? Because I would swear on Brimir's name that I heard what I heard, and I am not sure you would if you could discuss the possibility of 'if she said it'.

Furthermore, this is from my perspective of serious importance. Knowing how the Vallieres truly intend to govern the throne is a serious concern. Surely wouldn't you agree, Cardinal?"

"I must concur with the General, for I heard the same thing." Wardes suddenly assented. "It had been something which I know I found troubling during the speech, but he beat me to questioning Lady Valliere first. So, Karin, how exactly do you intend to rule Tristain after all? Will Eleanor be your puppet or Cattleya instead? Or maybe, instead of them, you could use Lou-"

"If you intend to further mock me, Wardes, I WILL challenge you to a duel." Karin hissed with untempered hostility.

The old man only cackled at those words.

"Gah ha ha ha ha. Temper, Lady Valliere, temper. You should keep it. Though I think even you know that you with _all_ of your capabilities would not lightly challenge me.

But that is beside the point." He continued as he looked out into the crowd. "General Bonaparte and I say that Karin misspoke, that she intended to rule Tristain. You are all aware of implications of such a statement. It would mean that her proposal was a sham, designed to lure us to sleep while she placed a puppet on the throne.

Moreover, she talks of peace. Peace? What about justice? She, the follower of the Rule of Steel, would abandon her code of justice so easily? How incredible for a ruler."

The nobles began to whisper to each other. Many of them were certain. Karin had not said anything like that. She had mentioned the Vallieres. Given the feud between Wardes and her, it was not impossible to believe that he was simply making this up in order to provoke suspicion.

But…were they really sure about the truth? What was the truth, anyways?

If they were utterly certain that the Lady Valliere would not place on a puppet on the throne to seize power for herself, they would have denied it without a moment's hesitation. And for some, they believed that it was so. They believed in her and did not doubt her commitment to justice and the law. But other nobles…

Yes, Wardes may be disliked, and General Bonaparte was merely a commoner. Both clearly were not on the best terms with Lady Valliere and in that way should be dismissed.

But if they had told the truth, then…

The mood began to shift among the crowd. Before, they had been entirely enthusiastic about the Vallieres taking the crown after she had used her tongue to utterly dismantle Guldenhorf. But now, they grew suspicious and muttered among each other as they looked towards Karin. Guldenhorf, initially stunned by the speech which Karin had delivered, finally took the time to clear his throat.

"It really is… incredible." He said. "But I do agree with what others have stated about the Lady Valliere's statements that she said that she would rule the throne. Obviously this must be considered in any future proposals and so I suggest-"

"I'm done."

Karin stood up from her chair. While her words were soft, there was a hard edge to them which no one, not even Louise, had ever heard before.

"I am done negotiating." She repeated. "I have had my fill of liars, knaves, and fools who will pick apart my name and my honor for their quarrels. They threaten to destroy the country as a result. I think after all this time, it is clear that there are those who will not accept me no matter what I do."

She looked over at Guldenhorf, her eyes burning.

"Do you want war, Guldenhorf? A war a thousand times terrible and hellish than what occurred during this conflict in Albion? Because while I do not want war, I will give it to you if you ask. The Vallieres will rule Tristain. It is our right through our bloodline and it is our right through our power and honor. I no longer care whether you oppose me with your will, Guldenhorf. But if you have the courage to come at me and not snivel in the shadows like the coward you are, I will fight you to the bitter end."

"Wha-"

Ignoring the blonde nobleman, Karin turned her gaze to the rest of the lower nobles.

"I will leave for the Valliere estate by sunset tomorrow. No sooner and no later. Every nobleman here, regardless of high or low his rank is, will have until then to swear his allegiance to the Valliere family as the new rulers of Tristain. Those who do not, I will persuade you afterwards of the error of your ways."

"Lady Valliere!"

Karin looked over at Cardinal Mazarin for a moment and gave a small sad smile.

"I am sorry, Cardinal. I hate to break up your meeting. But the time for talk is now all but over. The time to determine who will rule this country will be decided through other means. May the conflict be short and decisive."

And with those words, Karin Desiree de la Valliere walked out of the entrance hall. For a few moments, no one said anything. Louise noted that Bonaparte appeared to be mildly surprised.

"Well, now you've done it, Guldenhorf, Wardes." Marshal Gramont growled as Karin left. "I should have known it would end up like this. I assume that you two aren't going to crawl to her after what you pulled here?"

"She never answered our question about our rights." Guldenhorf declared. "Until that is resolved-"

"Oh, _hang your rights and privileges, Guldenhorf!"_ Gramont snarled. "You know what is worse than losing a few noble rights? Losing everything. And that is what this war will do to you. I will tell you this right now, Guldenhorf, as an old man who has seen much. Wars never go as they plan, and they almost never give you what you desire even if you win. You have unleashed forces beyond your wildest imagination; things which you will think you can control, but never can. And they will destroy you in the end. I promise you that."

The old man snapped his fingers, and Robert instantly came forward to wheel his father out of the hall.

"Glory to the Valliere name, the true ruler of Tristain!" He shouted. "Long live Tristain and its people!"

And with those words, the Gramonts left. The Duke of Walloon stood up afterwards.

"The Vallieres are the rightful heirs to the Crown. It is the will of Brimir. Those who oppose him and the family will be crushed."

The third of the five great families left the Great Hall. The rest of the nobles looked at each other as they made their decisions. But as they did so, Napoleon Bonaparte quietly laughed to himself.

There had been no error. There had been no mistake. Karin's speech had been perfect, from her perspective. The reality was that she had never said the words he had claimed she had said, and he knew it. She had only talked of the Vallieres. Not of herself.

But then again, reality had once bent to his will. A long time ago, in a French palace as he sought to escape the Sixth Coalition. So all he had to do was to bend it again. Now, in the minds of many of the nobles, their reality was that Karin had accidentally revealed the "truth" that she intended to control Cattleya. Wardes the Elder had been clever to realize that what Karin said was nowhere as important as what the nobles _believed_ she had said, and had instantly jumped in. It was a gamble which Napoleon had known was not likely to work, but it had succeeded in blunting the effects of Karin's speech and had reignited the suspicion towards her from the crowd. And his antics had proven to be the final spark to force Karin to make her biggest mistake yet.

Karin had had enough. In the name of peace, she would plunge Tristain into war once again.

…

…

"You're back again, lady!"

Gim ran around on the orphanage roof as Matilda watched the boy. The boy seemed to make it a habit to come up here to "explore for treasure." She had come up here a few more times since the first time she saw him back on the day of the first conference, always with a sweet or two with him. It was good to talk to him about the orphanage and about Tiffania through another source. Besides, he was a sweet boy, with the dreams which every child had at that age of becoming a great hero and slaying dragons. Matilda couldn't help but remember her own childhood when she had those ideals as well.

"Yes." She said. "I am. I'm waiting for my master to return."

"Your master?" The boy said. "You have a master? He must be a very powerful mage!"

Matilda nodded at those words, and the boy went back into his daydreams. He continued to run around the court, but she could see that he was thinking of that powerful mage. For now, she planned to wait up here until she heard any news about the conference. Matilda was very certain that the result would be disaster, but that wasn't for her to think about. Improving Louise's combat instincts was taking priority.

Her hand touched a slight cut on her cheek, and Matilda grinned as she felt it. She had actually offered to fight Louise, with the handicap that Louise would be allowed to use her new knife while Fouquet had to fight with her bare hands. She had known at the time that it was been a foolhardy proposition. Even someone with Matilda's training at hand-to-hand combat would prefer to avoid a fight against a completely untrained individual armed with a knife. But part of that training was simply to see if Louise would seriously attack with the knife at all.

She had. Matilda had still won in the end, but repeating a fight like that was not a prospect which she looked forward to any time soon. After all, even if none of them were gravely serious, that cut on her cheek had not been her only wound.

_Thump thump thump_.

Someone knocked on the trapdoor to the roof. Matilda drew back slightly, but the boy gave a wide grin.

"That's Big Sis's knocking! Hi, Big Sis Tiffania!"

"Gim?" Tiffania asked through the door. "Are you out there?"

The boy enthusiastically nodded and opened the door. Before Tiffania could say anything, he reached through and tried to tug her onto the roof.

"Come on, Big Sis!" He cried. "Take a look at the clouds! It's really gray out here!"

Tiffania resisted for a moment, but she relented and clambered up to the roof. As she saw Matilda, she gave a shy smile.

"Oh, this is a surprise. How did you get up here, Mary?"

"It's Matilda." She responded. "At any rate, how are you doing these days?"

Tiffania reached into her pockets as she spoke and pulled out some crackers.

"We're doing quite well these days, actually. The children are really settling down these days. Would you like one?"

"No. Save them for the kids, not me."

From there, the two of them chatted upon little things and watched Gim run around the roof. But as they did so, a part of Matilda's heart chided her lack of self-courage.

Tiffania was her sister. Well, half-sister, born from the same human father. But Tiffania had never known that she had an older sister. As the legendary thief Fouquet, Matilda had protected her, whether from bandits or through stealing artifacts to send money to her. Yet the day that she had rested in her orphanage, the day she had been captured, was the first time that Tiffania had ever actually seen her. She had told herself at the time that heading to the orphanage was a bad idea, but with the younger Wardes, Albion, Tristain, and half of Helgekinia pursuing her for something or another, she had wanted to make sure Tiffania was safe. However, it had worked for both Matilda and Tiffania better than she had ever imagined.

Matilda still hadn't told her about their relation. She told herself that it was so Tiffania didn't need to worry herself about her. The elf girl had had enough to handle with her orphans and the difficulties of simply surviving as an elf in a land which looked upon them with suspicion and fear. But now…

"Gim, could you go down? It looks like it will rain soon. I'll be down after you."

Tiffania pointed to the door and her charge quietly obeyed. He yawned as he climbed down the steps into the building and then closed the door. Tiffania giggled abruptly for no reason.

"What is it?" Matilda asked.

"I just wanted to thank you." Tiffania said. "There aren't many humans who are willing to talk to me like that. I like you a lot, Matilda."

"O-of course." Matilda responded. "Of course. I'm always willing to help you, Tiffania."

She really needed to leave, she thought. She could tell Tiffania the truth later. So, with a last bow to her sister, she walked over to the edge of the roof and prepared to-

_Wait, what?_

"Matilda, is something wrong? You've gone pale as a-EEK!"

Matilda suddenly ran to the center of the roof and tackled Tiffania. Before the elf could say anything, Matilda put a finger to her lips. Tiffania understood and for a few moments, the two women just lay on the roof without uttering a word. Matilda barely dared to breathe.

But she knew what she had seen. Two men, one with white and one with blonde hair, both with scars covering their faces. And while their bodies were covered by traveling cloaks, she had seen from their form underneath that the blonde-haired man was missing his right arm.

_Wardes the younger. And Menvil, that insane fire mage. What in Brimir's name are they doing in Tristania?_

…

…

The hotel where Karin was staying in had transformed into a fortress.

There were no royal guards, but many of the toughs who had been hired stationed themselves at the entrance. Anyone who did not have at least two generations of noble lineage was forbidden to enter, no matter how powerful, wealthy, or famous he was.

Still, while the guards functioned to keep the rabble out, it was not a huge priority. For who would dare attack a building where over half of the nobles of Tristain, all of them mages of varying degrees and skill, currently sat? One of the dining halls had been taken over, and now around three dozen nobles crowded around it as dishes were served.

"Lady Karin," a nobleman asked as his hand held a chicken leg, "Do you think that we will have to fight?"

Karin sat at the head of the table. As a servant placed a dish in front of her, she shrugged her shoulders.

"I have no way of knowing. Guldenhorf and Wardes will hold out for a while, but I do think that if enough of the nobles acknowledge me as the rightful ruler of Tristain, they will be forced to cave or face extinction. But so far, as you can see, there are many empty seats. I have no way of knowing, but at this rate, I think a little over half of the nobles will acknowledge the Vallieres by the imposed deadline.

As for now, we need to handle how Tristain will be governed given this likely state of emergency." She continued. "I think that we can wait to crown Cattleya, especially since we will need to discuss her marriage and-"

"Pardon me, Lady Valliere?" Gramont promptly asked. "Did you say Cattleya?"

"Well, yes." Karin responded quizzically. "That was the proposal we had discussed in the palace today, after all."

"True, true." Walloon shrugged. "But you made that proposal in an attempt to placate Guldenhorf. There is no longer any reason for us to do so, and I will admit that I feel more comfortable leaving the country in your hands as opposed to, well…"

Walloon broke and did not finish his sentence. But nobles at the table stirred at the proposal which had been all but declared by him. They talked to one another, but the tone was generally positive.

"Are you sure about this?" Karin asked. "After all, I do not actually possess royal blood. It flowed through my husband's veins and then my daughters."

"Oh, come now, come now." Count Grandple stated. "It is not as if it would be such a surprising thing. Princess Henrietta may have ruled this country, but we all know that if it wasn't for her mother's precarious mental state, she would have likely ruled when the last King died. Yes, your husband had not been crowned yet, but the principle still stands. I personally would have no problem with the Lady Karin taking the throne.

"I would." One nobleman declared. "That is not to say that I do not trust you, Lady Karin, but the law is the law. And even if there is a precedent, the fact is that Henrietta ruled. I believe that Cattleya must rule."

However, no one else moved to agree with that man. The mood of the rest of the noblemen was clear. They would have little concern if Karin was to go ahead and take the throne for herself, with Cattleya and Eleanor as the presumptive heirs.

But Karin did not respond. Instead, she stood up from her seat at the table.

"If you will please pardon me, gentlemen." She said. "I would like to take a moment to ponder this decision by myself."

Without a word, she quietly left the room. Walloon leaned into Gramont's shoulder.

"She really adheres to the rules, doesn't she?" He whispered.

"That's how she is." Gramont whispered back. "Still, it's a shame. We all know that she'll make a better ruler than Cattleya, but she'll probably abdicate anyways."

…

A weak ruler is better than no ruler.

Karin knew that better than anyone. Henrietta may have been liked by nearly everyone, especially the commoners. But she had never been a powerful ruler. However much Guldenhorf's opposition was due to the fact that the two hated each other, Karin knew that he was sincerely concerned that placing a Valliere on the throne would end the old system. That old system where he got away with only providing token aid to defend his country against Albion.

But even so, that system was better than the current chaos which had engulfed Tristain ever since her death. And so, the proper thing to do would be to appoint a ruler as soon as possible. Even these negotiations had delayed the process far too long. Putting Cattleya on the throne would only make it worse, as the marriage would have to be decided first and there would be plenty of negotiations about that if she took the throne. That didn't even account for the problems that the likely upcoming war would bring.

But the law dictated that Cattleya take the throne. She didn't care about precedent or whatever Malicorne had said. Henrietta had ruled. And Cattleya possessed the bloodline through her father that Karin would never have.

But she would be a better ruler than her daughter. She knew it. Karin could rule. No one would stop her. And with that power, she could protect the family and create a better future, both for the Vallieres and Tristain, than Cattleya ever could. Her daughter would have good intentions when she took the throne, but so did Henrietta. And while it was a horrible thing to admit, Henrietta had failed. She had to go to Albion merely to keep the invading army coherent as Bonaparte and De Poitiers fought with one another. A stronger ruler would not have had to be there. A stronger ruler wouldn't have-

She shook her head to dispel those thoughts. But the facts would not go away. Her beliefs, her pride, meant that she should let her daughter have the throne. But could she be truly absolute? Would she let her beliefs destroy this country, dishonor the family? Because she couldn't forget what letting Cattleya take the throne would do to the Vallieres. Cattleya would effectively become the head of the family. Karin would be left to manage the estates while Louise returned to the family and she would be shunted aside.

That didn't concern Karin. She had no interest in power for power's sake. But if she couldn't count on Cattleya to truly run the country properly, with so little experience…

Karin wandered the halls of the hotel with her thoughts as she agonized and thought. But the more she thought, the more obvious the decision appeared to her.

She would compromise on the Rule of Steel. Just a little. After all, she wasn't taking power for herself. She wasn't even doing it for the Vallieres – the shame of returning Louise to the family was nothing compared to the shame if Tristain fell under weak leadership. She was doing it for the country she served above all else. She would take the throne, become a strong ruler, crush those who opposed her, and lead Tristain to peace and happiness.

So, that would make it okay, right?

…

Hours after Lady Valliere left the palace, the Great Hall remained occupied.

As no one had ever actually proposed a serious alternative to the concept of Valliere rule, none of the nobles who were concerned about that prospect had any desire to meet in any of their homes now. Given the increasingly tense context compared to the first meeting, to meet in any home would give the appearance of power to that family. In fact, in order to continue to avoid that appearance, Guldenhorf and Wardes had moved themselves from the higher to the lower table.

So while many of the nobles as well as a visibly upset Cardinal Mazarin had left since the departure of three of the Great Families, the rest convened in the Great Hall. Everyone also knew that not everyone who had left necessarily supported Karin. Instead, they were willing to wait and see.

But that did not mean the situation was easy for the opposition. For only about 20 families remained there. And aside from a general opposition to the Vallieres, none of them were truly certain what to stand for.

"Well then", Guldenhorf inquired, "Is this everyone who is willing to stand up for what we have earned?"

"Earned, huh?" One nobleman repeated. "Fact is that Karin probably going to strip us of most of our power at this point, so I guess that yeah, I'm opposed to her taking the throne. I don't know whether Karin said one thing or another today. But I don't think I can trust her."

The others nodded in assent, but the nobleman continued.

"But the fact is that I really don't trust you either, Guldenhorf. I think I should make that perfectly clear. I wouldn't support you to be king of Tristain any more than I would Karin."

"I'm fine with that." Guldenhorf responded. "Tristain has a long history, and there have been moments where there is no monarch. During those periods, the nobles set up an emergency temporary council. I propose that we simply set up one of those councils here where all of us would jointly rule. I think at this point, it's perfectly clear we can't trust the Vallieres to take the throne. So we'll just have to persuade them to give up their claim, and then we can determine a new king."

"I am fine with name." Count Kundera agreed. "We can call it Council or Alliance. Something simple, since I do not think conflict will last very long."

A murmur of assent confirmed the names. But then another nobleman, his blue eyes thin and sharp, gave off a massive sigh of protest.

"I am opposed to the Vallieres taking the throne as much as the rest of you. And I do harbor considerable concern about what Karin will do when she takes the throne. But I must ask, since this question has concerned me as long as you guys have been sitting here planning your opposition:

How in Brimir's name do you hope to win? How do you intend to persuade Karin to give up their claim?"

"W-what are you talking about, Earl Richter?" Guldenhorf stammered. "It's obvious! We'll present an united front and-"

"_United front?" _Richter repeated in a high sing-song voice. "You think a _united front_ will make the Vallieres back down? Guldenhorf, don't be ridiculous. You know Karin perfectly well. For something as important as the monarchy, she would not budge even if every single family in Tristain opposed her. And while we don't know who's supporting her and who isn't, I highly suspect that it's quite a few more than 20. And to make things worse, two of the great families are definitely supporting her as well. Gramont commands the respect of most of the Royal and National Army, and Walloon can easily get the support of the Church on his side. And if the Pope calls a crusade on us…"

The nobleman stopped for a moment and shook his head.

"Look, I know what you intend to do, Guldenhorf. And I think your cause is right. But you need to ask yourself this question? How are we going to win against the Vallieres and what they can amass?"

"Use the commoners."

The nobles were confused at first. They recognized that voice, but it took them a moment to realize where it came from. Then, Kundera whipped his head towards the high table which Guldenhorf and Wardes had vacated.

"General Bonaparte?" The nobleman asked. "What are you doing there?"

"I fancied the view." Napoleon responded.

"And your partner, Louise, is sitting beside you because-"

"She was tired from standing all day. You must forgive her." Napoleon remarked.

A few of the nobles took the moment to look behind them at the guards that they had brought in surprise towards this statement. While they did so, Napoleon continued.

"Earl Richter is right. Your chances of victory against Karin currently are not in your favor. She has more of the families on her side. She has more of the great families on her side. Not to mention, she is no slouch with magic and can likely attract many key groups, such as the Church.

So, what you need to do is to call other groups to your side. The merchants and the commoners are your two best bets from my perspective."

"The commoners? Are you serious?" Guldenhorf spat. "They don't have the proper bloodlines! How much could they help us? I mean, they could be useful at unimportant tasks, but-"

"_Harrumph."_

A long, hoarse cough, almost a growl, erupted from the Wardes's throat. Guldenhorf stopped speaking and looked at the Duke, but the old man then placed a thin, shaking hand on Guldenhorf's shoulder.

"I am very sorry, General Bonaparte." Wardes said. "But would it possible for you and Louise to leave this hall for a moment? I have something I would like to discuss with my colleagues, if you would not mind. A proposition."

Without a moment's hesitation, Napoleon complied. He stood up from his chair and gave a great bow to the rest of the nobles. Then, with Louise following him, he left through a side door into another hallway.

"What is it?" Louise asked as Napoleon closed the door. "Is everything going to be all right?"

Napoleon said nothing at first. But then, he bent down and abruptly tousled Louise's hair.

"There's nothing to worry about." He said to her. "Everything will be fine."

His words were reassuring, but Louise noticed something as he looked forward. His eyes were triumphant, confident, almost as if he knew that he had already won a battle before it had even started. She knew then that it would be good news when they re-entered the hallway.

For the next 15 minutes, the two of them waited by the door. Napoleon leaned his back against it while Louise sat on a nearby chair. As the door was thick and wooden, it was almost impossible to hear the nobles talk, but bits and pieces of conversation managed to slip through.

"-unacceptable."

"It's the only way."

"Really, not like anything will change."

"Final victory."

After waiting a bit longer, Count Kundera reopened the door. As Napoleon and Louise reentered the room, every nobleman stared right at them. Louise could not help but feel a twinge of nervousness in the face of so many inquiring eyes.

And then, the nobles did something that Louise, the youngest daughter of the proudest noble family in Tristain, had never seen before. All of them, even Guldenhorf and Wardes, stood up in Napoleon's presence. And at the end of the table, a seat was clearly left open for him.

As Napoleon took his seat without a word, Count Guldenhorf, sitting to his right began to speak.

"General Bonaparte. While of course this Council's goal is to work together in order to end the possibility of Valliere tyranny, we have come to the conclusion that we do need a leader. Someone who is outside the quarrels which I know many of us nobles possess. Someone who possesses many talents and great intelligence. I believe that no one could do a better job than you.

Of course, our goal is to end the prospect of the Vallieres doing as they please, so there will be restrictions, and you would still be a commoner. Still, I believe that these terms would be acceptable to you? I know that it will be a great honor for you, General Bonaparte."

"Of course." Napoleon instantly replied. "I would be honored."

The nobles responded with applause. It was polite, formal, and barely lasted ten seconds. When it was finished, Guldenhorf nodded in approval.

"Well then." He said. "We must now be honest. This is all but certainly going to end up in war. A war to preserve our rights from the Vallieres. We must marshal our forces as quickly as possible, which necessitates that we return to our homes. We must all keep in touch with each other in order to coordinate our forces and prevent them from being destroyed piece-meal by the Vallieres."

The rest of the noble gave looks of assent and Guldenhorf looked at Napoleon.

"General Bonaparte. We nobles have our forces to protect ourselves with, but I do not believe you have anything. I would like to offer you some of my own men as protection."

"I would gladly accept them, on two conditions."

"And that is?"

"First, that I would have the right to dismiss them as I see fit. If I believe that they cannot help me, then I will have them return to your service."

"Very well." Guldenhorf said. "And the second?"

"I also reserve the right to command and deploy them as I see fit."

Guldenhorf took a moment longer to mull over that condition, but he finally nodded.

"Of course. I shall send them to your home as soon as I can. It will take some time as we organize our own forces. But we shall take care to write with each other to look out for our interests, right?"

With those words, Guldenhorf stood up from the seat and made his own preparations to leave. Everything that had to be discussed had been discussed.

"I wish the best luck of all of you, gentlemen. May Brimir guide us all to victory."

…

"I don't get it."

Louise finally muttered those words as she and Napoleon entered a waiting carriage. As they bumped along the road, her thoughts grew more confused by what had just transpired.

"What is it, Louise?"

"You didn't notice?" She asked. "They made you their leader, but it felt…wrong. Unnatural. As if they don't trust you but they still-"

"Louise." Napoleon interrupted. "They didn't make me their leader."

She wasn't even surprised, really. She had harbored the same suspicions herself. If anything, the fact that Napoleon said that served to calm down her down she finished his train of thought.

"They've made you their puppet."

"More or less." Napoleon shrugged. "The nobles opposing Karin realized that they likely will need assistance from the commoners to win. The easiest path to do that would be to grant various reforms, but they'll never do that. Especially Guldenhorf, given his background.

So, if they're unwilling to grant reforms to the commoners, the next best method to get their support is to prop up a commoner to a high position and use him to proclaim that they are interested in their plight. And that's what they have done to me. I'm someone who Guldenhorf and the others will use to draw commoners to fight for them and not much more. If there had been a homeless commoner beggar sitting at the table at that exact moment, they likely would have propped him up to be their supposed leader."

"Not much more? Does that mean there's more to it?"

"Well, I'm not just their puppet; I'm their chance to escape. For that matter, so are you."

"Me?" Louise asked.

"There's a very good chance that Guldenhorf and his group will lose anyways." Napoleon said. "They made me their leader to avoid the worst punishment in that scenario. If Karin wins, they'll likely turn on me, turn me over to Karin, and declare that I was the instigator of the rebellion, and you as my partner are also responsible. It won't help them escape punishment, but if Karin is feeling merciful and they beg hard enough, she'll only execute the two of us. No doubt we'll probably be tortured for a while as traitors, then hung, drawn, and quartered."

His tone remained light throughout that entire monologue, but Louise visibly blanched at his words.

"D-does that mean that we should do everything we can to help Guldenhorf win?"

"Hardly. If Guldenhorf wins, we'll likely receive the same fate as well."

"WHAT?! But we're on the same side!"

"Not really. Guldenhorf just wants me to attract the commoners to his side. But if he wins, he'll no longer need that from me. In fact, I will be a giant nuisance as the commoners will continue to use me as a symbol. So no doubt at the end, he'll use me – I'm sorry, us – as a scapegoat for some mistake his side committed during the war and accuse us of treason. Guldenhorf offered those bodyguards after all to keep watch over me for that very reason."

Louise couldn't believe how calm her partner was about this piece of news.

"B-but, does that mean we're doomed no matter what?" She quavered with no small amount of fear.

"Of course not. We're just doomed if your mother or the Council which I supposedly lead wins. Those are not the only two possible options, Louise."

Louise's eyes still remained wide with shock, as the carriage rolled on. Napoleon stared at her face for a moment and then looked out the window.

"Good grief." He muttered to himself. "Well, I guess I do owe that to her."

He leaned forwards towards his partner, who looked at him in confusion. Then his hands shot to her chest.

"W-w-w-w-w-whhhhhhaaaaaatttttt? What do you think you're doing, you stupid-"

She stopped. He hadn't actually touched her. Instead, he grabbed her wand and ripped it right out of her chest pocket. Before she could ask what he was doing, he pointed the tip at his left hand, right at the runes. They began to glow upon contact with their master's wand.

"There is a third option which I'm willing to give to you, Louise. One which you can still take right here in this carriage. You can end the contract, jump out of the carriage, and flee for your life."

"What?"

Louise couldn't believe what he said, but she instantly thought of a similar scenario. One where she had been presented with options about what to do with a thief, the wrong option which would have led to her death. But Napoleon shook his head.

"This isn't like then, Louise. It's far too late for a test. If you want to leave the carriage, I won't stop you. I will demand that you end the contract between us before you do that, but once you do, we can go our separate ways and you can try to save yourself."

"B-but where would I –"

"Go? That wouldn't be my concern. Maybe you could beg your mother or Wardes for mercy. Maybe you could flee to the Prince of Wales, or Gallia or Germania. It wouldn't be my concern. But if you are really, truly scared for your life, this is your last chance."

He folded his arms and waited for Louise's answer. The girl looked down at the carriage floor for a moment, but said nothing. With another sigh, Napoleon continued.

"Like I said, you have until the carriage ride ends. If you don't say anything by then, I'll assume you're going to stay with me."

"I don't need that long."

"Really? So what is it?"

SNATCH.

Louise jumped forward and grabbed her wand out of Napoleon's hand, and then smacked his head.

"You, you, you IDIOT! You inhuman monster! What kind of person wouldn't be utterly terrified for his life after what you just told me? You stupid, miserable dog!"

Tears and snot flowed down Louise's face as she tried to wipe herself, gripping her wand the entire time. She tried to speak for a moment, but the liquids in her throat caused to choke as she collected herself. Only after a few minutes more of crying could she manage to continue.

"You…think I can run away? I…am Louise Francoise le Blanc de la Valliere. Exile. Void mage. And partner to a stupid and impulsive idiot. But you know what, Bonaparte?"

She finally wiped her face and tried to laugh through her tears.

"I think we're going to be just fine."

Napoleon couldn't help it as he grinned back at her.

"You are right. So when we get home, we will have plenty of work to do if our skulls aren't going to end up on top of a pike on a bridge. I'll call forth my guard, and you get to work with your magic and skills. We are walking a delicate and dangerous tightrope, Louise.

But it's at those moments when you truly know you are alive."

He held out his hand to her. Not as a familiar, not as a general, not even as an Emperor. But as an equal to her. And with a savage grin plastered on her face, Louise grasped it in return.

**END OF PART III**


	41. The Devil: Chapter 1

**PART IV:**

**THE DEVIL**

"_He who fights monsters should see to it that he himself does not become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes into you."_

_Friedrich Nietzsche._

_..._

_..._

The country of Tristain had always been a small nation. To its east lay the great expanses of half-civilized Germania. Gallia was to its south and Albion to the west.

Yet those were not the only countries in the land of Helgekinia. South of the country of Gallia, approximately a little over a fortnight's journey from Tristain, rested Romalia. It was a country with no king, but its people were far more loyal and subservient to their leader than any king could have desired. For while kings and queens may claim to be blessed by Brimir, only the Pope of Romalia, Vittorio Serevare, could claim to be Brimir's representative on Helgekinia. He was a young man, not even 25. He had only ruled Romalia and the Church for three years, but his strikingly good looks and strong sense of justice had served to make him beloved among his people.

Yet as busy as a ruler had to be, today was a day of rest as decreed by Brimir. So within the tallest and greatest cathedral in Romalia, the pope slammed his fingers down as he finished the last chord on a pipe organ. He only had it installed a few weeks ago, but had not had the time to play it as often as he would have liked. Still, he had concluded the usual sermons and had no business to preoccupy him so now he had a few hours to…

_Knock knock._

_Oh confound it,_ the Pope momentarily thought to himself. But he knew that he had no choice but to answer. He had given his guard orders to leave him alone, which meant that there was one person who could or would knock during such a time.

"You're allowed to enter, Julio Chesare."

The door creaked open and the young boy who had temporarily served in Napoleon's army entered. He took a few steps forward and as the Pope stood away from the organ, fell onto one knee.

"I am sorry to report that I have failed my mission, Your Holiness."

"If you had succeeded, you almost certainly would have already returned, Julio." The Pope responded. "It's been quite some time since Cromwell was defeated, and even longer since I sent you to Albion in the first place."

"I wanted to see if there was any chance that I could recover from earlier errors, but-"

The Pope raised a single finger and Julio halted mid-sentence.

"There's no need to excuse yourself." He said. "It was, after all, a secondary objective. Things would have been much easier if you had managed to recover the Founder's rings, but Brimir has decreed otherwise. Do you at least know where it is?"

"Not to a certainty, but I suspect King Joseph succeeded."

"Completely?" The Pope's eyes widened.

However, Julio shook his head.

"No, not completely. Your Holiness would not doubt have heard from King Joseph had he succeeded in obtaining both the rings of Albion and Tristain. But for now, I believe that he only obtained the Albion ring."

"Then where is Tristain's ring, the Water Ruby?"

"I am not totally certain about that, Your Holiness." Julio stated. "The problem is that Princess Henrietta didn't bring it with her to Albion. Consequently, Albion did not claim it when she perished."

"So it's in Tristain?"

"I spent the last few weeks travelling through Tristain trying to see if I could find any information about the Water Ruby, or the Ruby of Fire for that matter." Julio stated. "But travelling through that country has become considerably more difficult in the aftermath of Princess Henrietta's death. Even if the war is over, there are considerably more bandits who are trying to take advantage of the chaos. And I have yet to even say anything about the fighting over Henrietta's succession."

The Pope couldn't help but shake his head in response to that last sentence.

"I will not speak ill of my fellow men, not on this rest day." He quietly said. "Still, what are they doing? Are the nobles of Tristain unable to see what their conflict will bring?"

"Some of them, I truly think are unable to realize what this war will bring." Julio responded. "But only some. From what I've heard, there are those who desire and welcome the change which a civil war would bring."

"Those sorts of people will be the ones who will be hurt the most by that change."

"Yes, Your Holiness." Julio said.

The Pope tapped a finger against his chin. As disappointed as he was that Julio had failed to uncover any of the rings, he was hardly surprised. The boy was talented and clever enough, but he was a foreigner who was easily recognizable with his good looks and heterochromia. Whoever actually owned those rings at this point would be on guard against a figure like him. Besides, the fact that he had returned at all indicated that he had succeeded in his main mission, a simple intelligence gathering expedition of Albion and Tristain.

"Perhaps, Your Holiness, it would be best to send the Inquisition for this matter?" Julio volunteered.

"The Inquisition? No." The Pope said. "As badly as I want those rings – for safeguarding, as you know – there is no heresy being committed in Tristain and sending them without the support of the Crown would be very tricky. I could still probably send them anyways, but under the current chaos, I would rather attempt other methods first."

The Pope began pacing through the hall as he pondered for several minutes. Julio continued to kneel, not daring to look upon his master's face.

"I would rather not use the Inquisition, and as you have just returned, I have no interest in sending you on another journey." He mused. "The best course of action, then, would be to use what resources I already possess in Tristain first."

He finally stopped and looked at Julio.

"Do you know which side Walloon will be taking during this conflict?"

"Of course. The relation between the Vallieres and the Walloons has been very strong, so he will take her side."

"Very well then. Send an emissary to him or to the Valliere family. It doesn't matter which one, just get in touch. Also, get in touch with the leader of the opposing faction. I will listen to your reports of what you saw later."

He curtly waved his hands, a gesture which Julio knew to be a signal of dismissal. Without a word, his servant stood up, bowed, and quietly left the room. The Pope took a moment to hear him walk away, and then turned back to his organ.

…

"You blithering IDIOT!"

A young man, blond hair falling down to his shoulders, paced relentlessly around a richly decorated room. Behind him sat his father, the legendary Marshal Gramont. While his title was ostensibly the Count of Gramont, his famous military exploits had meant that all of the other nobles had chosen to call him by his title of Marshal. Even as old and infirm as he was, strapped to a wheelchair, his presence pervaded the room. His eldest son, Robert, waited behind him as well as the third son, Jean. None of them said a word as they watched Vincent continue to stride back and forth across the room.

The second son of the Gramont family stopped and stared directly at the person in front of him. Guiche de Gramont, the youngest son of the Gramont line, kowtowed to his brother. He did not even attempt to raise his head as it touched the floor, nor did he move when Vincent walked and put a military boot on his neck.

"What were you thinking, Guiche? Did anything cross your head when you did that?"

"I…wasn't thinking." Guiche mumbled from the floor.

"WELL OF COURSE YOU WEREN'T!" Vincent yelled. "Your loyalty is to the family, to the family's honor above all else! Then to the crown and Tristain! So why, why did you swear an oath of loyalty to anyone else?"

"B-because I was in his service and-"

"Did he ASK you for it?"

"No." Guiche admitted.

"Then why did you give it to him?"

Guiche said nothing. In reality, he couldn't say anything to defend himself. Guiche knew as well as everyone else in the room that in his impetuosity and his desire to show gratitude that he had committed a massive error. While everyone knew that the mistake was unintentional, none of the brothers moved to forgive him, nor did they say anything as Vincent finally removed his boot and began to again pace the room.

"And to top it off? You swear it to General Bonaparte? Guiche, if you had sworn an oath of loyalty to Guldenhorf that would be one thing. That I could possibly understand. But to Bonaparte? A commoner? Guiche, just what were you doing, swearing an oath of loyalty to a person like him?"

"Enough, Vincent." Robert interjected. "General Bonaparte is an honorable man. There is nothing wrong with Guiche serving under him in particular."

"Really, Robert?" Vincent asked. "All of us, and mother as well, have you heard you praise him to the sky. But what has he done to show that he's as smart as you claim he is? He got a bunch of Gallians to help him win. Gallians? Anyone can do that! Your general may talk a lot about military affairs, but there's no reason to think that he's anyone important. There's a world of difference between talking and doing."

"He has been made the head of the Alliance."

"Luck." Vincent dismissively waved his hand. "And look, it doesn't matter, Robert. General Bonaparte could be the greatest general in the land, even better than Father. That's still no reason for Guiche to swear an oath of loyalty to him!"

"Enough, Robert, Vincent!" Their father broke in. "The two of you have always been far too passionate in your arguments. A proper general is calm and decisive above all."

The two brothers looked at each other before they turned to their father. They quickly kneeled and apologized before they both stood behind him. The old man grumbled as he stared at Guiche.

"Jean." He asked. "Do you have anything to tell your little brother?"

The third Gramont brother shook his head. His father nodded.

"Always the silent type, eh? So, Guiche, do you intend to fight your family?"

"I-I don't wish to do so, Father."

"What you wish for does not matter, Guiche. I am asking about what you will do. Do you intend to fulfill your oath and fight on General Bonaparte's behalf?"

Guiche said nothing in response. He visibly trembled, and his elderly father's nostrils flared.

"There is something which I believe you should know before you say anything as well, Guiche. It's about the Montmorency family."

"Yes?"

"They've chosen to ally themselves with the Vallieres. I am perfectly aware of the relationship between yourself and their second daughter. That, I believe, should be something you should consider when you make your decision."

Guiche stiffened up at those words, but his father had nothing more to say. He waited for his son's decision.

"I can't betray an oath." Guiche finally mumbled.

"Pardon?"

Guiche lifted his face up and looked at his father. There were no tears, no signs of sorrow written upon his face. Instead, all that remained was cold determination.

"I can't betray an oath. I made an oath to General Bonaparte. To be eternally loyal to him and to obey his commands. To break it right at the very moment he needs me? I can't do that."

"And what about your loyalty to your family?"

Guiche did not hesitate this time.

"I am sorry, _Marshal Gramont._"

Everyone in the room knew the implications of Guiche's statement. The old man stared at his son for half-lidded eyes. The four Gramont sons, with bated breath, awaited their father's decree.

_Clap clap clap._

The old man calmly applauded his son's decision. Vincent's eyes became wide as dinner plates, and even Guiche could not conceal his own surprise.

"That is the correct choice, Guiche. I am proud of you."

"Father!" Vincent sputtered. "You cannot be serious!"

"I am. I would have not accepted Guiche had he chosen to fight for his family. He may have had made his oath out of foolishness, but that alone cannot make you break your oath. I did similar things when I was his age and accepted the consequences."

Marshal Gramont leaned back in his wheelchair and smiled at his youngest son.

"Needless to say, Guiche, I will not harm you now. It would be dishonorable. I will grant you three nights and two days to pack, prepare, and leave Gramont territory to join General Bonaparte. I do not think I need to tell you that you will never be welcome here again."

"Yes, sir." Guiche quietly said

"My sons, is there anything you want to tell him?"

Robert and Jean shook his head, but Vincent nodded. He walked up to his younger brother. While Guiche had before flinched before Vincent's rage, he now stayed calm. It was clear that making his decision had imbued him with new determination.

Vincent stopped before Guiche and raised an arm in the air as if to strike him across the face. But the blow never came. Instead, he lowered his arm, knelt down to Guiche's level, and then wrapped his arms around him in a ferocious bearhug.

"Go…to…hell, you stupid brother!" He half-laughed, half-snarled. "You come back here, I'll have your guts for garters, you hear? I definitely won't help you out, okay?"

"Of course, brother." Guiche murmured. "Of course. I won't disappoint the Gramont name."

"Says the newest Gramont exile." Vincent said. "Well, get out of here! And bad luck to you!"

Vincent finally let go and joined Robert and Jean. The three of them clicked their heels together and saluted Guiche, who reciprocated in turn. The young man got to his feet, bowed to his father, and then left the room.

"You are dismissed, my children." Marshal Gramont calmly stated.

Vincent and Jean nodded and walked out through a different door from Guiche. However, Robert stayed behind, looking at his father. The old man looked back at his eldest son.

"Is there something wrong, Robert?"

"Did you really intend to exile Guiche if he chose to fight for the Gramonts?" Robert calmly asked.

The old man smiled at that question and shook his head.

"Of course you figured it out. You're easily the cleverest of my sons, Robert. Well then. Do you know why I told Guiche that?"

"It was for his sake. Guiche will no doubt go through moments when he will doubt himself, when he will wonder if he made the right choice to follow his oath. You told him that you wouldn't have accepted him if he had chosen differently to prevent him from wallowing in the dangerous question of 'did I make the right choice?'"

"I am not Karin, son. I do not hold to the rules as rigidly as she does. I still don't understand why she chose to exile her youngest daughter. I am glad Karin made the decision to take the throne for herself, but things would likely have been easier if we could have given the throne to her youngest daughter. She's the only healthy child Karin has left at this point now.

At any rate, I don't intend to do the same thing to Guiche. It is his decision to go into exile. To make him suffer in the idea that his life could have been better if he made a slightly different choice? It is far too cruel."

The old man rocked back and forth in his wheelchair as well as he could.

"Still, I have to admit Guiche surprised me. I thought he would have broken his oath the minute I told him about his girlfriend. I do admit that I would have been disappointed if he had chosen to break his oath, and probably would have sent him to some minor post as a result, one where he could see her more often. Furthermore, he will have more opportunities and a better chance of glory in the Alliance."

"He is serving under General Bonaparte." Robert said. "He will do well."

"You think he's that dangerous, huh?" Marshal Gramont said. "Well, I'll see for myself. I would like to have a chess match against him sometime."

…

In a small farming village, the day had come to an end. Many of the tired farmers and workers headed down to the local tavern, eager for a long drink and the chance to grouse with each other. The bartender greeted the new arrivals with a hearty smile and a few lively insults and broke out the cups.

Many of them noted that there was someone there whom no one had recognized. A lone figure sat in the corner closest to the door with a mug and plate in front of him, his face covered by a long hood. A few of them looked at the stranger and thought about approaching him, but even though he said nothing, the person gave off a completely frigid air which belied any attempts towards conversation. Some of the farmers muttered to each other about the person, but most of them just chose to ignore him and instead talked about the day's events.

"So, did you hear about the rebellion? That there's going to be another war in Tristain?"

"What? Are you serious? Who invaded us now, the Gallians? The Germanians?"

"It's a civil war. Those damn nobles are ready to kill each other over who gets Princess Henrietta's crown."

"Well, that's just great. That means the nobles will tax us harder to pay for their wars."

"Yeah, but I think it is different now." A younger farmer piped up. "Especially since one side looks like they're interested in us commoners for once."

"Are you serious, boy?" An older man guffawed. "The nobles never care for us. Oh sure, they make a big speech about how they protect us and we're supposed to serve them because Brimir says so, but they never do. Princess Henrietta was the only one who ever looked out for us. Now that she's gone, life's just going to get harder."

"You should take a look at this, then." The young man said as he waved a paper. "It's the latest news from Giono's paper."

"Young whippersnappers who think reading will solve everything." The old man grumbled.

Still, as he stuck a pipe in his mouth and lit it, the old man listened to his companion read the paper out aloud to the tavern. He noted that the front of the paper had a large picture on its front, of the person he recognized as General Bonaparte. The one who Giono in his papers called the "Defender of the People."

"Good men of Tristain!" The young man read. "The National Gazette reports that Tristain has been embroiled once again into war. Foreign agents from abroad intend to usurp our throne and take it for themselves. The Duchess Karin de la Valliere has welcomed many of them and plans to give up the city of La Rochelle to them."

The young man continued to read from the paper to the crowd. It was filled with lurid details about the righteousness of the Alliance – or rather, of their new leader – and the sinister implications of the Vallieres taking the throne. Most of the crowd didn't really understand what exactly the paper was talking about when they warned about threats to liberty and such, but they could feel the alarmed tone from the reader's words. And clearly, whatever it was talking must be important if the Gazette had such an alarmed tone.

BANG.

The young man's reading was suddenly interrupted as the door to the tavern was violently pushed open. A man with well-built shoulders and ripped muscles arrogantly strode into the tavern. As he walked towards the barkeeper, a longsword and a pouch of gold jingled at his side.

"What will it be, my good man?" The barkeeper asked.

"I didn't come all the way to this village in the middle of nowhere to drink." The arrival said. "There's something I'd like to ask. Have you seen a girl pass by this tavern? Black hair, pretty? Scar on the left side of her face?"

"I haven't seen anyone like that. Still, that's a strange combination you described there. Pretty girl with a scar. I think I'd remember if someone like that passed this way."

The man dug a hand into his pouch and fished out two gold coins.

"These happen to refresh your memory?"

"I can't tell you what I don't know, sir." The barkeeper responded. "I'm an honest man. I could take your gold and give you a false lead, but I won't do that."

The man nodded in appreciation and then looked at the rest of the farmers in turn. None of them gave any indication of knowing the answer to his question. Eventually, his gaze fell upon the hooded stranger in the corner.

"You look like a traveler." The man called out. "Would you happen to know anything?"

There was no response. The man rose up from his seat, a hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he walked towards the stranger. Still, the person at the table seemed to take no indication that anyone was coming near him.

That is, until he grabbed his cup and dashed a large quantity of hot tea into the swordsman's face.

"ARRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!"

The swordsman fell back as he clawed at his face in pain. The stranger in the meantime dashed out of the inn before the farmers could react. As she did so, the hood fell away from her face, revealing black hair.

"There she is! That must be her!"

"Should we go after-"

"DON'T!"

The swordsman roared out a single word as he drew his weapon.

"She's mine! Mine, and mine alone! Stay out of this, you hear me?"

Without waiting for a response, he charged out of the tavern, chasing the fugitive.

…

Siesta was tired.

It wasn't the running which had worn her out. She had been a maid who was no stranger to physical work. Furthermore, the fact that she knew that she was running for her very life meant that her muscles gained just a little more strength and energy to keep herself going.

But she was tired of running and hiding from everyone. She had hoped, to some degree, that killing Louise's father would have been the beginning. She knew that the commoners were simply terrified of nobles and their magic, like she had been so long ago when she worked at the Academy. But if she, an ordinary peasant girl, could strike down the official head of the most powerful noble family in Tristain, it would show the people that the nobles weren't invincible. That they could be killed. And if they could be killed, then the common people would be encouraged to rise up against them.

Nothing of the sort had happened. She had talked to people who were unaware of her true identity. Whenever the subject of the attack at the Valliere estate had been brought, she found herself condemned almost all the time. A few commended the murderess's boldness, but then grumbled that it would invite a crackdown from the nobles and that she had done nothing to help commoners out.

Her actions had not sparked any hope. The commoners continued to maintain their passive acceptance of the nobility, of their power, and condemned her strike for justice. And even as the country threatened to spiral into civil war, the elites who had split Tristain found time to unite to kill her. The Vallieres were chasing her, but she had learned that Andre Giono, the famous printer, and a commoner at that, had commissioned forces to take her down. It was utterly insulting.

She would have continued to think, but her brain finally took the time to pay attention to her surroundings. And when she saw where she was, she began to panic.

"A dead end…."

Siesta did not know this town, nor had she planned where to run when she had been discovered. Her legs had just carried in random directions as she sought to evade her pursuer. Now her carelessness had placed herself in this precarious position

For a moment, she wondered whether she had managed to escape, but that hope was quickly dashed as she heard his footsteps. They were a fair distance away, but no doubt he knew where she was. He would be on her momentarily at this rate. Furthermore, he was probably a professional – an amateur would have likely yelled at her to stop or insulted her, but he clearly wasn't interested in wasting his breath.

She had to hide. But where? There were a few barrels there, but that was too obvious. Maybe in the shadows and she could try to trick him? There was a sewer grate, but it was far too small for her to squeeze into. What about-

"There."

A ladder lay upright next to the wall, and a row of stone extended out over the alleyway. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. It was high enough that if her pursuer didn't look up, he wouldn't be able to see her.

There was no time for hesitation. Siesta clambered up the ladder. When she reached the very top, she leaped to the row of stone. It was small, far too small for Siesta to actually rest on, but her arms wrapped themselves around it as her legs helplessly kicked in the air.

Just then, the man finally arrived. He stopped as he looked into the alley, not noticing his target directly above him.

"Where is that blasted whelp?" He muttered. "I know I saw her run down this way."

He noticed the ladder, but in a flash of irritation, he kicked it over and watched it topple onto the ground.

"Hey, little girl!" He suddenly yelled out. "I know you're here! Even after what you did to me, I'm not going to kill you! I've been promised an additional 500 gold if I bring you back to Tristania alive! So come out and make it easier on yourself!"

Siesta, of course, said nothing. But the hard stone cut into her arms and her muscles ached. She knew that before long, her strength would give away and she would tumble down into the alley where he would wait. Even if she no longer believed in Brimir, she prayed to someone, anyone that he would leave.

But he did not leave. He kicked the barrels around and began to walk up and down the alleyway a few times in visible frustration. But then eventually, his eyes fell upon the ladder and they lit up in recognition.

"She must have gone up."

He was right below Siesta as he said those words. He slowly began to look up, towards where she hid…

And then something fell on the man's shoulder.

"What?"

It was small and light. He could tell that. The man looked over, and saw that a rat had fallen onto his shoulder. It sat up and perched where it had landed.

"Disgusting vermin."

The man breathed a curse and moved to brush the creature off. But before he could do anything, the rat suddenly sank his teeth into his shoulder

"YEOWWWW!"

The man howled in pain for a moment. Forgetting the chase, he grabbed the rat and hurled it onto the ground. He then strode over, determined to stomp this insolent pest to death.

But then, before his mind could begin to even process it, he instinctively realized that he was doomed.

Rats. Hundreds upon hundreds, a great army of the creatures swarm out of nowhere. Whether from the sewer grate in the alley or even from the rooftops, out of nowhere they swarmed the man and viciously attacked him.

Screaming in agony, the swordsman tried to stumble out of the alleyway, into the town where he could find help. But he was completely surrounded and covered, like ants would devour a frog or a great worm. No matter what direction he took, they clung onto him, biting his face and cheeks and arms and legs and whatever they could. Out of desperation, he swung his sword, hoping to keep them away.

It proved to be of no use. One rat bit his thumb and the sword clattered to the ground. With a last, terrified scream, the man fell onto the ground as he died.

Siesta continued to cling on the stone row, but she no longer felt her muscles ache in her shock. She couldn't believe what she had just seen. Her mother had told her when she was a little girl that rats were dangerous. But this…this was something different. Even now they continue to crowd the dead swordsman's body.

But then the rats suddenly stopped what they were doing. Almost as if one, they all turned to look directly at her. And as Siesta began to wonder if she would meet the same fate as her pursuer, she noticed a white rat perched on top of the sewer grate.


	42. The Devil: Chapter 2

_Shoot first and inquire afterwards. If you make mistakes, I will protect you._

_Hermann Goering, to the Prussian police._

…

...

While one of Helgekinia's two moons shone on the streets of Tristania, the streets of the main city of Tristain were deserted at the late hour. But in one rich, well-decorated office which smelled of incense and mahogany, a well-dressed and well-fed man sat at his desk as a lamp burned. A pair of small spectacles rested on his nose as he read a letter.

"So they're all gone…" he muttered to himself. "They've all returned home to their estates."

The man chuckled to himself as he put the letters aside and removed his glasses. Reaching underneath his desk, he pulled out a decanter of wine and a glass. As he poured himself a late drink, he noted that he hadn't been in such a good mood in quite a long time.

As the most important city in the country, Tristania had been governed directly by the Royal Family as opposed to any one nobleman. Yet Princess Henrietta and her father before her simply lacked the time to handle the day to day affairs in the city and the territories under their direct control as they ran the entire country. Consequently, Henrietta's father had appointed a mayor to handle the usual tedious bureaucratic affairs and execute the king's and later the princess's wishes. As someone who had worked his way up from being a mere son of a small trader, the man at the desk had faithfully done his duties to manage the city under both monarchs.

Despite the immense honor of the position, the Mayor did not have an easy position. The nobles had never respected him, and Cardinal Mazarin had frequently intervened in tasks and events which were none of that religious man's business. There had been little which the mayor could do about it thanks to the close relationship between Mazarin and the Royal Family, but he had done his best to keep order and safety in the city. He knew that he was not well liked – his many years in power meant that he had stepped on many toes, both noble and commoner, to govern the city properly. The press, currently led by that blasted old printer, had been continually calling him corrupt.

The Mayor couldn't help but shake his head at the thought. Corrupt? He was far better than the mayor before him! That man had no other desire than to accumulate personal wealth and had been so blatant and egregious in his crimes that King Henry had been forced to throw him into the dungeons. He knew that he was nothing like that. Yes, he had given and taken a few bribes, but those were for projects which really would help the city, and he had to persuade people somehow. He had even attempted to reform the tax system in the city to become simpler and easier for the rabble to comprehend, not that those ignoramuses cared.

Still, there was plenty to be happy about. He really didn't like to admit that the brewing civil war between the Valliere family and the so-called Alliance had made him better off, but facts were facts. The nobles had returned to their estates to raise their armies, and a few days ago, Cardinal Mazarin had resigned his position as Royal Advisor. There was no one left to advise these days to begin with, but from what the Mayor had heard, Mazarin was simply disgusted and irritated towards both sides. While he retained his position of Cardinal, he planned to devote himself to matters of the soul and to stay out of politics. Consequently, for the first time in the Mayor's tenure, there was no one who could tell him what to do. He rather enjoyed it.

For now, the Mayor really did not care who won the war. He had a city to manage without interference, and he would continue to devote himself to the duties of his office. No one would mess with-

THUD.

Just when he was about to drink a toast to celebrate his new power, the Mayor heard a loud noise from… somewhere in the building. Confused, he set the glass down and looked at the door in front of him. As he continued to listen, he heard other sounds, of things being broken and smashed. What was noticeable was the ever louder sound of footsteps, even though he knew he had been working alone…

SMASH.

With one blow, the door to his office was kicked down. A man, with thin hair draped over his head and wearing a splendid blue military uniform covered by a grey greatcoat, strode into the office. A dozen soldiers armed with a combination of muskets and uniforms accompanied him.

"G-general Bonaparte?!" The Mayor half-stammered, half-yelled. "What are you doing at this late hour? Why do you have soldiers with yo-"

Without the slightest indication that he was paying attention to the Mayor's words, Napoleon walked up to his desk and pointed a pistol at the Mayor's head.

"In the name of the people of Tristania, you are under arrest." He quietly said.

"What?" The Mayor mumbled.

"For your crimes against the people, for your corruption and lies, you are under arrest." Napoleon repeated. "Now, get up."

The Mayor did not respond or react to Napoleon's words. His eyes, wide as dinner plates, didn't even seem to recognize the pistol which was pressed against his head. With a complete lack of comprehension, he looked at Bonaparte and the soldiers who stood at attention behind him. His mouth opened and closed as if he wanted to say something, but no words came out.

Napoleon snorted at the Mayor's reaction and pointed his pistol at the office wall.

BANG.

The sound of the gunshot caused the mayor to jump in his seat. Without waiting for a response, Napoleon dropped the empty pistol. He then pulled another one out of his coat and pointed it at the Mayor.

"I will not bother missing again. Get up."

The sound of the gunshot seemed to reawaken the Mayor. He slowly got up, but he waved his arms as words tumbled out of his mouth.

"General Bonaparte, you cannot do this!" He cried. "You-you have no right! I am the mayor of Tristania! Only the Royal Family can remove me from my position! The people will never accept-"

"The people?" Bonaparte stated. "Did you think of the people when you tripled the price of food during the war between Albion and Tristain? Did you think of the people when you demolished their homes to build a park for the nobles in their place? Do you believe, for one second, that the people will rise up to defend _you?_"

"That was the merchants! There was nothing I could do about-"

WHAM.

Without waiting, Napoleon smacked the Mayor in the face with the butt of his pistol. The Mayor groaned as he toppled onto the floor. Blood leaked from his head onto the carpet, and Napoleon slightly grimaced at the sight.

"That will be annoying to clean up. Foucard!"

A soldier larger than the rest, a great bear of a man with a trimmed beard, stood at attention.

"Yes, General Bonaparte?"

"Take the mayor down to the dungeons."

Foucard nodded at once. He and another soldier bent down to grab one arm of the Mayor and move him off the ground. The fat man groaned slightly as he was lifted up, but he said nothing.

"Wait."

Before the men could escort the Mayor down, Napoleon raised a hand.

"Tomorrow morning, there will be a trial. I want to ensure that all of this man's crimes are made apparent to the people of Tristain. All of them. I'll let Giono determine the judge and jury."

"And?"

"I, I mean we, do not need the enemy making a hero out of the Mayor. When the trial begins, I do not want a man in the dock. I want someone who no one can look at and respect, a shriveling, miserable husk of a man who will do whatever we tell him. I expect you to do whatever is necessary tonight to make that happen."

Foucard nodded again, this time more slowly. He indicated one of the other soldiers to take his place holding up the Mayor. Foucard then picked up his musket, and turned around and slammed the butt into the Mayor's stomach. The man gasped in pain but still said nothing.

Napoleon nodded approvingly, but said nothing more. He watched his soldiers leave with the Mayor and then turned to a nearby window.

"I guess I have to borrow a page from your book, Maximilien." He muttered.

The nobles were fools, he thought to himself. All of them had returned to their estates to muster armies, but how many could they truly summon? Even the Vallieres, he guessed, would have difficulty maintaining a truly impressive army for any great period of time. The other nobles would be much smaller. While they played around with armies, he had, with barely two dozen men, had seized control of a city greater than any estate outside of the Five Families. With the manpower provided by the city and the still arriving members of his own forces, he could field his own army. The need to maintain his popularity meant that he couldn't squeeze the people of Tristania nearly as well as he could with the French or as well as the nobles could with their estates, which meant that he couldn't field an army that would be much bigger than even the weakest nobles. However, it did mean that Guldenhorf wouldn't be able to ignore him completely. This was about as great of a start as he could have dared to dream.

He noted the decanter and the still full glass and picked it up. There was still much to do, he noted to himself. A single coup would not suffice to ensure total control over the city. But he had made a good start.

…

A week after Napoleon had seized control of Tristania, a group of soldiers excitedly crowded with each other in the barracks courtyard. It was one of the largest buildings in the city, capable of hosting nearly the entire Royal Army at its wartime peak. Yet as the Royal Army normally consisted almost entirely of mercenaries, it had completely disintegrated in the aftermath of the Albion victory and Napoleon's decision to disband his army at the end of that war.

Consequently, the soldiers in the city consisted of a small peacetime garrison, the soldiers whom Guldenhorf had provided for Bonaparte, and his Guard. Many were soldiers who had never served in the unit before. Some were mercenaries looking for steady work, others were men who Napoleon had sworn into service like he had with Guiche at the end of the Albion war, and others were ordinary civilians who had been inspired by the writings of Andre Giono and the Mayor's trial a few days ago.

It had proven to be quite a spectacle. The Mayor had never been a popular man, but as he had limped to the stand, a broken and flabby man, they had truly realized that his reign was over. Without a word in his defense, he had accepted the penalty of death by hanging and had proceeded to his end. The fact that Napoleon had broken the Mayor so effectively served to awe the crowd, and the press had gone on a blitz explaining the merits of the new leadership and the importance of the war. Many were skeptical about some of Giono's proclamations, but others were inspired to join the new Guard. It had expanded from about 50 men to a smidgen over 200 and at this point helped to keep order in the city.

Now, large contingent of the soldiers gleefully looked out at the courtyard. They thronged around and formed a massive circular perimeter. At the center of the circle, two individuals stood with wands out. One was a young girl with striking pink hair which grew down past her shoulders. Her clothes were far plainer than what she had worn as a student, but she wore a beautiful blue ring on her right middle finger. The other was a handsome man with brown hair, about ten years older than the girl. He wore a long green cape, and a wine flask dangled at his side.

"Are you sure about challenging me, Louise?" Cartier Martin yelled out. "I may be only a line mage, but I don't really think it's the best move for you! I have no reason to fight you, after all, and it would be a shame to scratch your lovely face."

"If you're so confident, then charge at me, you stupid drunken dog!" Louise roared right back.

The crowd cheered in delight as they prepared to watch the dueling mages. Another soldier walked forward between the two with his arm upraised. He dropped his arm, and the crowd roared as the duel began.

"Explosion!"

Martin didn't even have the chance to lower his wand before Louise cast her first spell. It was a fast explosion, one which barely took two seconds for Louise to chant and release. But because of the extremely short time that Louise used, the explosion radius was barely a meter wide. Martin had spent too many years as a mercenary to be hit by such an attack.

"That was fast there, Louise!" He yelled. "Not bad! I had planned to mess around and use some ordinary wind spells at first but I guess I'll-"

BOOM

The next explosion was more accurate. Martin realized just in time that Louise was casting again in time to dodge, but the blast of light grazed him and burned a hole in his sleeve.

"Hey, hey, hey! Calm down Louise! You can blow me up, but don't touch my clothes! I just got this cape last week to impress ladies like you and AW FOR BRIMIR'S SAKE!"

This time, the explosion singed his hair. After three of them, Martin finally realized the situation he was in.

"You're actually serious about this, girl?" He observed. "That's different from your duel against Touraine. Guess I have to end this quickly, then."

He twirled his wand and pointed it at himself. Louise still continued to say nothing as she prepared the next spell.

"Explosi-"

"Speed."

Martin's spell was cast and he shot forward towards his opponent. As Louise was already in the process was casting her fourth explosion, she couldn't stop herself even when she noticed the attack. The fourth explosion fired where Martin had been a half second ago, but Speed flung him in a straight line towards Louise at a rate which the human eye could barely follow.

_It's a damn shame, _he thought. _I know she's a Void mage and I'm a line, so the Void mage should normally win. But speed magic is just an incredibly poor matchup for her and I'm more experienced. Oh well. I'll give her a hug after this. Maybe grab some as- WHAT?_

Louise was gone. He had been looking straight ahead, directly at her. But she had suddenly vanished.

Martin had cast his Speed spell with the intention to slam into Louise. The impact would have stunned her and turned the duel into a close-combat fight, one which Martin knew he would win thanks to his experience. Without anyone to stop him, he continued to shoot forward until the spell ran out.

But even if Speed had worn out, Martin's momentum had not, and he continued on a moment longer until gravity and friction combined to rudely slam him onto the ground.

"Ugh, damnit," he groaned as he rolled onto his back. "Where are you, you little-"

Martin never managed to finish his sentence as he noticed a pair of black shoes and the girl who owned them falling through the air. Before he could move, Louise landed feet first on his chest. The wind line mage yelled in pain as a result of the impact and his wand tumbled out of his hand. He tried to scrabble away from Louise and regain his weapon, but then Louise shoved her wand in his face.

"Do you yield?"

Martin blinked and his arms fell to his side. But he said nothing as he looked up at his opponent. Louise dug her wand a little deeper into his face.

"Do you yield?"

Martin raised an eyebrow towards Louise.

"You know Louise," he loudly whispered, "You may be pretty, but I have to admit after this that I probably prefer nicer ladies. Sorry, you're just not my type."

Louise's face deeply blushed at those words and she raised her wand as if she intended to skewer Martin's head on top of it. Martin couldn't help but laugh at her reaction before coughing in pain.

"Okay, okay, okay, I yield! Geez Louise, what the heck did you do anyways to get in the air like that? You'll kill someone with that spell someday by falling like that."

"I teleported."

"Teleported?" Martin repeated. "Into the air? You really do have an impressive arsenal of spells, Louise."

Louise grinned in response, but then she was suddenly grabbed from behind. The crowd which had watched the battle hoisted her into the air and onto their shoulders as they cheered.

"You won, Louise! Congratulations!"

"That was impressive, little girl!"

"H-h-h-heeeyyyyyy!" Louise shrieked. "P-p-put me down, you idiots! PUT ME DOWWWWWNNNNNNN!"

Her cries proved to be of no use. The soldiers had taken a liking to Louise over the past few days. While they knew that she was clearly a noble of some kind, most of them seemed to just think that she was Napoleon's daughter. "The General's Kid," they endearingly called her, someone who tried hard with her magic but who got embarrassed so easily.

As Louise struggled to remove herself, she noticed a mop of blond hair away from the crowd. A young man leaned on one of the walls of the courtyard, watching the roaring crowd but not saying a word. And as Louise looked at him, she noticed that he held a single rose.

"Guiche?"

The blond man looked at Louise for a moment and then walked away. Louise wondered to do and whether she should try to talk to her former schoolmate. But before she could reach a decision, a bearded man with a torn uniform rode into the courtyard.

"What are you DOING, you empty-headed idiotic sons of donkeys?!" He roared as he drew a sword. "You disorganized bunch of foolish sloths, you men would not be fit to clean my house much less fight here! Get back to your barracks, and I expect every single one of you back here in ten minutes for formation drills!"

The men stopped what they were doing. While some grumbled under their breath, they obeyed the commands of Captain Jacques Edouard Bernard Stewart. Out of Bonaparte's direct subordinates during the short phase where he commanded the army in Albion, Stewart had been the only of the four who had returned to fight for Napoleon. Touraine was neutral, Robert de Gramont had chosen to fight for his father and the Vallieres, and Julio, as far as anyone knew, had returned to Romalia. Consequently, Stewart had been promoted to be Bonaparte's second in command. While Napoleon never hesitated to mingle among his men given the chance, it was Stewart who drilled and harassed the recruits and men into soldiers.

The soldiers quietly put down Louise and drifted to their barracks. Stewart then walked over to Louise and doffed his plumed hat to her.

"A pleasant day to you, Louise. You should know that General Bonaparte has returned."

"Good day, Captain Stewart." Louise politely replied. "Thank you for telling me. Is he busy?"

"Regrettably, yes. Still, he instructed me to tell you that he will be hosting a council later tonight at your home. He asked me to tell you to come."

Louise nodded in response and Stewart returned his hat to his head. Then he rode off to the barracks, shouting more curses at his soldiers all the while. Louise tried to look for Guiche, but in the scrum of men milling about as they prepared to drill; there was nothing she could do.

…

While Bonaparte's soldiers were stationed in the barracks of Tristania, his headquarters rested in his home in the Upper Quarter of Tristania. The Upper Quarter remained peaceful and civil, even with the outbreak of civil war, not least because there remained very few people thanks to the departed nobles.

Louise had contacted Matilda, and her servant and teacher followed her into the main dining room of her home. She noticed many of the other individuals who had been invited as part of this council. Captain Stewart sat at the table, a lit pipe in his month. A few other soldiers sat next to him, including Martin, Owen Foucard, and Guiche. Foucard, the brawny man, in particular seemed confused to be there, while Martin gave a flirtatious wink at Louise which she happily ignored. She also noticed Andre Giono as well as a few other individuals who she had never met before. At the end of the table, Napoleon sat.

"I'm glad you're here, Louise." He smiled. "We were all waiting for you."

He stood up and extended a hand to her.

"Gentlemen, I am aware that most of you know this new arrival, but I believe in the importance of introductions. My partner, Louise Francoise le Blanc de la Valliere. For better or for worse, she has been exiled from the Valliere family by her mother, who you all know extremely well. Consequently, I have chosen to place Louise under my protection. She is a capable and powerful mage."

There was plenty which he didn't say, but Louise understood. The two had discussed it already, privately. Obviously, the fewer people knew that she was a Void mage, the better. While there were plenty of people who did know, such as Matilda, Giono, and anyone who had actually seen her cast Void magic, it didn't mean that she would go around boasting about it. She had persuaded Napoleon to tell the truth if directly asked, but only then.

Similarly, they had both decided not to mention that Napoleon was in reality Louise's familiar, and it was not only because of his ego. He had observed that if the other nobles knew, it would hinder his ability to gain their respect. While obviously Louise's mother knew, that was of no importance since she was Napoleon's and by this point Louise's enemy regardless.

The rest of the members stood up and bowed to Louise, but said nothing to her. Louise curtsied in return and took a seat opposite that of Napoleon. Her partner nodded in acknowledgment and turned to Giono.

"Andre, would you care to inform everyone of the problems with security that you had discussed with me?"

"Certainly," the old printer said. He slipped on a pair of glasses and pulled out a sheet of paper.

"As I'm sure everyone in this room can guess, control of Tristania will play a key role in determining the outcome of this conflict. In that regard, we are fortunate. Guldenhorf directly borders us to the north, while the Vallieres and the Gramonts control eastern and western Tristain respectively; both are fairly far from us. The Walloons are closer to the south, but they are in no position to attack us, while Wardes is sandwiched in between the Vallieres, the Guldenhorfs, and Walloon. While there are smaller nobles who support the Vallieres that are close to us, I think that for the time being, we are safe from external threats.

Here, however, the problems begin. The old mayor had a town watch to keep order in the city, though they generally relegated themselves to catching thieves and common criminals. While we have been able to maintain those men, that will not be enough. Spies and infiltrators will enter Tristania. I personally have been aware of a few who have entered, but I don't have the muscle to do much beyond roughen them up a bit."

"Couldn't you hire mercenaries to catch them, Giono?" Captain Stewart asked.

"For the short-term, yes." Napoleon cut in. "But that is not a long-term solution at all. We've already discussed the importance of the rearmament project, Captain Stewart. I will not have our soldiers armed with melee weapons or arrows. They will carry guns. I have a design for flintlock guns which several gunsmiths in this city are working on, but for the short term, the men will use matchlocks. Recruiting new soldiers, giving them new weapons, and simply running this city? Captain Stewart, our resources are stretched as it is."

"We're defending the city." Stewart responded. "Surely we can impose additional duties on the commoners for their protection."

"Perhaps, but the lack of resources isn't the only problem. I don't want mercenaries. I want men. Honorable men, who will do whatever is necessary to ensure that Valliere influence does not linger in Tristain. Not sellswords, but men who understand the importance if this mission. They must be tough, ruthless, if necessary, brutal."

"You want to create an organization of such men?" one of the young bureaucrats asked. "I know a priest who I think would be well qualified to handle such a task."

Napoleon shook his head.

"I would rather not use a priest. They're too independent. Foucard!"

The large soldier stood at attention.

"Yes, General?"

"You were raised in this city, were you not?"

"In the slums, sir, before I became a mercenary."

"All the better. I am placing you in charge of this new organization. Call it whatever you like, though check it with me first."

"Me, sir?" Foucard raised an eyebrow in astonishment. "I am a soldier, after all."

"That is precisely why I selected you." Napoleon said. "We are at war, and war is chaos. It is during that chaos that we rely on soldiers to restore order, and we must also restore order at home. I want you to head out to the city tonight. Find men who you can trust, men who you know will be willing to do what is necessary to keep this city under control. Make sure they're discreet, but brutal in their jobs. I authorize you to do whatever you see fit in order to carry out this task."

Foucard slowly and finally nodded, then saluted Napoleon. Napoleon returned the salute and then pulled out a scroll of paper. As he unfolded it, Louise noted that it was filled with complicated charts and graphs.

"Now, as for the matter of the merchants…"

The meeting continued from there and shifted to a wide variety of topics such as the governing of Tristain (as he would be busy with the war, Bonaparte appointed a young architect and a colleague of Giono's to be the interim Mayor while he was away), economics, and the preparation of the military. But while Napoleon listened to a series of appointed advisors discuss those affairs, he kept one eye on his partner. Louise didn't know a thing about governing. He knew that. But he noted the rapt attention with which she listened to the other bureaucrats discuss the affairs of governing the Tristania and the surrounding areas.

"Sir, sir!"

A soldier dashed into the room. He stumbled slightly onto the table as he paused to catch his breath.

"There's been a fire, sir. At the orphanage. A big one."

The entire table fell completely silent. Even Napoleon paled upon hearing the news.

"I would like to ask a question, and anyone may answer this. Am I to believe that you would rely on the nobles' magic to handle a problem like this?"

"Yes." Foucard responded.

Napoleon nodded slightly at the news. He knew very well the danger of fire to a city like Tristania. Shortly after he had married Marie-Louise, he had attended a ball in her honor in Vienna – only to barely escape with his life when a fire broke out in the city. He had promptly organized a brisk and efficient firefighting brigade in Paris, where the men lived at the station in preparation for emergencies. But now there was no such organization. If the fire burned down Tristania right after he had seized control of the city, Napoleon knew how the people would react.

"Captain Stewart. Get down to the barracks at once. Organize all the soldiers that you can. Get water, organize the people to fight the fire. Go!"

Stewart saluted and left the room.

"We may not have water mages, but Earth should do to put out fires as well." Bonaparte continued. "Matilda, get to the scene of the fire and-"

He looked over in the thief's direction, behind Louise. But there was no one there.

…

"_Damnit, Menvil! What were you THINKING?!"_

The younger Wardes cursed silently as he looked out at the burning building. Menvil was insane. He already knew that the fire mage – the White Flame, as he was known – was a completely murderous pyromaniac. But Wardes hadn't anticipated that he would do _this_ – and while he no longer cared much for Tristain, it did not mean he enjoyed watching its buildings get destroyed.

He couldn't help but think back to what had transpired almost a month ago. He had recovered from his injuries in the final battle against Henrietta and had received orders from Joseph – well, to be specific, from that annoying Sheffield – to retrieve Fouquet. To make sure that she didn't reveal anything about Joseph, or Gallia. But then, just as he had arrived in Tristain, Joseph had called him and Menvil back.

Wardes had met King Joseph many times, even before he had officially betrayed Tristain. While he knew better than anyone just how unpredictable the so-called Mad King of Gallia could be, he thought he had seen every emotion and antic from Joseph. He had seen him shamelessly flirt with his courtiers, ferment elaborate and complex plans for an end which even Wardes did not really understand, laugh for hours at some courtier's joke which was not actually all that funny, and even smile once or twice. Wardes couldn't pretend to understand Joseph – he doubted that even Sheffield really could. But he thought he had seen all of Joseph's expressions.

But upon entering the throne room alone, Wardes realized that he had never seen a visibly angry Joseph.

Unlike his previous meetings, there were no guards or courtiers there. The Gallian King sat completely alone on his throne, his chin on his elbow and his brows furrowed.. He held a cup in his hand as he looked at Wardes.

"I want to ask you something, my beloved traitor." Joseph asked. "Can I trust you?"

Without saying a single word, Wardes dropped on one knee before Joseph. The king's eyes narrowed, but after a moment, he nodded.

"That is the best I can do, I believe. I returned because of a mistake I made, something I failed to check. I should have thought about it during my talk with Bonaparte. If I had known that he already had that, I would have asked for her instead of the Music Box and the Water Ruby."

"Her, Your Majesty?"

"Napoleon found the half-elf. And he took her back to Tristain."

Wardes's eyes widened at those news.

"What?"

"Precisely." Joseph nodded. "That is incredibly bad news. Very dangerous. I have even discussed the possibility of invading Tristain to find her with my ministers. After all, if…that occurs…"

Joseph trailed off as he thought to himself. But Wardes, better than anyone else, knew what the Mad King was referring to. If _he_ found her, then…

"But still, Your Majesty." Wardes said. "Perhaps she might make an acceptable sacrifice. If_ he_ obtains her, then he will almost certainly stop feuding with you and not attempt to-"

SMASH.

The cup shattered into a thousand pieces as it impacted the wall opposite the throne.

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR BLITHERING MIND?! YOU, WARDES?! YOU OF ALL PEOPLE?! WHAT IN BRIMIR'S NAME ARE YOU THINKING?"

"I-it was just a suggestion, Your Majesty." Wardes hastily said. "I was only thinking of your own well-being."

"I go to my _courtiers_ for suggestions, Wardes." Joseph snarled. "I go to you for _sensible_ suggestions. And no, he will get _nothing._ I will give him nothing, nor will I let him get anything. Even I can discern dreams which are fantastic from those which are completely mad."

The King slumped back into his throne for a moment. Wardes stayed on one knee, not even daring to look up at Joseph's face. Given how angry he was, he may very choose to execute…

"Tee hee hee hee."

Instead, Joseph giggled like a schoolgirl, a hand covering his mouth.

"I am sorry, Wardes." He chortled. "I truly am. I should not have done that. You have been a good servant, after all, and I should not abuse my servants. Right, right?"

He giggled again. Wardes however pressed his face down, his nose touching the floor. It was these moments, when Joseph laughed like this, when he was at his most dangerous.

"Well, anyway," Joseph continued, "If the half-elf has gone to Tristain, we shall simply have to bring her back. You will bring her back. Menvil as well. Of course, Fouquet will almost certainly be close to her, so dispose of her if you find her. But for now, bring me the half-elf. I'll certainly do a better job keeping her safe as opposed to him."

Those were Joseph's orders, and Wardes had intended to fulfill those commands. Upon learning of the orphanage, he had planned for Menvil and him to simply infiltrate the building, grab Tiffania, and be on their way to Gallia before anyone realized what had happened. Nice, simple, and clean.

Unfortunately, Menvil had reacted poorly to the idea and had done…well, this. He had stormed into the orphanage declaring that Wardes could stand guard outside while he would find the elven girl. But as Wardes idly noted a nearby building beginning to burn, he couldn't help but grumble about the White Flame's plan.

"Get out of the way get out of the way!"

Wardes's thoughts were broken by a shout down the street, and then a horse burst onto the road at a full gallop towards him. He simply glanced down at the rider with nothing more than passing interest – only to whip out his wand when he recognized the rider.

Unfortunately for him, Matilda recognized Wardes as well. A wall of earth rose up to block the blade of wind Wardes cast at her. Without even waiting for her mount to slow down, Matilda leaped off, about twenty feet away from her opponent.

"It's been a while, Fouquet." Wardes casually remarked. "You seem to be a little annoyed right now."

"Where is Tiffania? What have you done with her?"

"Nothing. I didn't start this fire, Fouquet. My colleague did. He's in the orphanage now, looking for her. Don't worry, we aren't going to kill her. We'll just take her back to someone who can truly appreciate her talents."

"Forget that!"

Matilda immediately launched a spike of earth at Wardes, but he casually deflected it with his wand.

"Get out of my way, Wardes." She snarled. "I'm going to save her!"

"Save her, Fouquet? Even as crippled as I am, I don't think you can beat me. And Menvil is quite a bit stronger than I am now. So before he comes out and tries to kill you as well, why don't you head back home and-"

The sound of additional hoof beats interrupted Wardes's speech. There were more of them, he noted. Three of them. And as the reinforcements rode onto the street, he took a good look at them. He did not recognize. One appeared to be a mercenary of some kind, while the other looked suspiciously similar to Marshal Gramont. But the third rider…

"Well then," Wardes smiled as Cartier Martin, Guiche de Gramont, and Louise stopped behind Matilda, "How have you been, my former fiancé?"


	43. The Devil: Chapter 3

_We repeat again: strength of character does not consist solely in having powerful feelings, but in maintaining one's balance in spite of them._

Carl von Clausewitz.

…

…

Louise could not believe her eyes.

She had known, all right. Matilda had told her about Wardes during their training. She had told her student about how Wardes had betrayed Tristain, helped her escape with the Staff of Destruction only to be badly injured by its power, losing his right arm in the process. But it was another thing to see how much he had changed since the last time she had seen him almost ten years ago. While Wardes still kept his long gray hair, he had shaved his beard. The right side of his face was a scarred, wrinkled mess, giving the strange appearance of a man below 30 on one side and above 60 on the other. A cloak was wrapped around him, but only one sleeve protruded.

Her expression of surprise was evidently clearly noticeable. Wardes smiled and slightly chuckled upon seeing her face.

"Is something wrong, Louise?" Wardes asked. "Are you surprised to see your fiancé fall from such a state?"

"Fiancé?" Martin repeated. "Really? Louise, were you really going to be betrothed to such an ugly creature? I had expected a refined lady like yourself to possess better standards of beauty."

Louise only looked down at the ground, her face covered by her long hair. Her hand slipped into her robes, but she was clearly deep in thought. Just as Martin opened his mouth to ask again, Matilda interrupted.

"It is true." She said. "Louise and Wardes were betrothed by their respective families ten years ago. An arranged marriage. Of course, when it was revealed that Wardes was a traitor, the engagement was cancelled."

"You are incorrect, my dear thief." Wardes interrupted. "The engagement was never cancelled."

"What?" Matilda gasped.

"I was branded a traitor and stripped of all of the titles I held as a Viscount." Wardes continued. "But I am of age to be married, while Louise is not. Consequently, the only two people who can actually cancel the engagement are myself and her mother. And I have already checked. The Lady Valliere never actually got around to ending the engagement."

"But that makes no sense!" Matilda cried. "Now that she has been kicked out of the Valliere family, the Lady Valliere cannot end the engagement anymore, correct? Meaning that the only one who can-"

"-is me." Wardes finished. "Of course, it means nothing practically. I cannot hold an actual wedding ceremony with Louise unless I have either her consent or her mother's. As neither will obviously grant it, the engagement is basically cancelled.

However, even if we will never actually marry, Louise, I am still your fiancé. It would be courteous to show me some respect, then."

Louise slowly nodded, her head still looking at the ground.

"If I show you the proper respect, fiancé, will you answer a question of mine?" She softly asked.

Wardes raised an eyebrow. He had not expected Louise to be this quiet. He had expected her to madly blush on seeing him again, maybe deny that he was her fiancé, something silly like that. She was…too calm. Too morose on seeing him again. It wasn't like her.

"That depends. What is it?"

"Fiancé, you know that the Prince of Wales survived the Albion War, right?"

"What?" Wardes asked. "What is the meaning of such…a…"

His voice slowly trailed off as the realization hit him. Louise took a step forward.

"When the war with Albion ended, Napoleon spent a lot of time talking with Wales. About what happened that night, in the cathedral. The night that Her Majesty died. Wales told Bonaparte. And Bonaparte told me. And according to the Prince of Wales…you were there that night, Wardes."

Another step forward.

"Were you?"

Martin, Matilda, and Guiche slowly looked at Louise and then at Wardes. The disfigured man's mouth wavered for a moment, but then he laughed in response.

"Why don't you ask the real question, Louise? You want to know if I'm the one who killed Henrietta, do you not?"

Without raising her head, Louise nodded.

"Well then." Wardes said. "If you want to know, I did not kill Henrietta. It was an ordinary soldier. I do not even know his name. He snuck up behind her while she was distracted trying to protect the Prince and struck the fatal blow. So while I was there, fighting, I was not the one who killed your precious Princess.

I will admit that I am the one who killed her bodyguard, Agnes, so perhaps without me, Henrietta could have survived. I doubt it, however. The trap was well laid, and it was interesting to see her face when she realized her face and-"

"Shut up."

Everyone on the street looked at Louise in surprise. Wardes blinked his eyes.

"Pardon me, I must have misheard you?"

Louise raised a single finger on her right hand. Wardes initially thought that she was making a certain gesture, but then his eyes widened as he noticed a ring which shone on her middle finger. A silver ring which shone a brilliant blue.

"You…" Wardes stammered. "The Water Ruby. Where did you get that?"

"It was a gift. From Her Majesty. A long time ago, before the Albion War began."

She took a step forward, her head still looking down at the ground.

"It represented the love which Her Majesty had for me, and the loyalty I had for her. My best friend, my princess, my queen. The one whom you killed."

"I did not kill her, Louise."

"I am going to kill you." Louise continued without listening. "I _want_ to kill you painfully. I want to make you beg for mercy, apologize for what you did, and grovel like a miserable, pathetic dog before I destroy you. I want to remove your other arm, your feet, and watch you scream before I end your ruined, pathetic life which you destroyed by betraying Tristain. I want to use the Void in way which no one has ever used it before, in ways which would utterly violate the dignity of Brimir, so that I can make you suffer for a thousand, ten thousand years before you finally die.

But you are my fiancé, Wardes. And more importantly, I know Her Majesty would not have wanted me to do such terrible things. So I won't do such things, and will settle for just killing you. Quickly and painlessly. Well…

Maybe not necessarily the latter."

Everyone just stared at Louise as she finally raised her head. There were no tears on her face. No blushing, no trembling, nothing to even indicate that she was the slightest bit furious. Her expression was completely blank, as if she was watching an ordinary laborer in front of her and not her fiancé.

But if Wardes had thought that perhaps Louise was not completely enraged, a glance at her wand would have told the truth. It visibly glowed blue with magical power. Furthermore, the air around Louise was…indifferent. Pure.

Pure unadulterated, complete, hatred and violence. A drop of sweat trickled down Wardes's face as he felt his fiance's presence.

"Heh…" He muttered, "It's not dissimilar to her mother's anger…"

Wardes nodded to himself and looked over at Matilda.

"If you want to save Tiffania," He yelled at her, "You can pass! You and the others! I think…I'll be bit busy over here."

Matilda nodded and looked over at Guiche and Martin. But the latter shook his head.

"I'm going to stay here. Guiche, you go with Matilda."

"What?" Matilda asked. "I've seen you in action, Martin. You're stronger than Guiche. Louise can handle Wardes, so why-"

"It's because I'm the stronger that I need to stay." Martin responded. "Because frankly, Matilda, someone needs to make sure that Louise doesn't destroy the city."

He looked over at Guiche, but Guiche did not look back at him. Martin shook his head and hit the younger boy once, on the head.

"Oi, Guiche."

"Y-yes?" Guiche said.

Martin looked down on him. If anyone else had been around, he would have preferred to take him from the headquarters to the orphanage given how…morose the young man had been ever since he had arrived. He had done nothing but mope around ever since he had arrived from the Gramont estate, but he was the only one who Martin could have taken along.

"I don't have time for any long-winded speeches, Guiche. So I'll keep it short. You're not the only one who's lost your family. You're not the only one who got kicked out of the Five Families. Louise has, and so have I. But that doesn't mean we can slack off."

He lightly tapped Guiche on the head, which finally caused him to look up at Martin.

"So buckle down, and get to work. I'll buy you a beer when this is over, okay?"

It's not like those words alone would perk Guiche up, but the young man nodded. Matilda had already charged into the orphanage during the talk, but Guiche ran past Wardes and followed her inside. Wardes nodded and drew his wand. It was longer than Louise's, and the tip was sharp as a knife.

"A wandsword." He stated. "The weapon of those who were knights, of those who know how to fight. Well then, shall we begin, Louise?"

"Osu Suunu Uryu Ru RADO!"

BOOM  
>Wardes dodged. Where his head had been a second earlier, a small Explosion detonated.<p>

"That, I assume, is a yes."

…

"Tiffania!"

If there was anything Matilda could be thankful about, it was the fact that at least the fire was magical and controlled by Menvil. Menvil no doubt had the power to completely burn down the orphanage, but if he was going after Tiffania, he couldn't risk doing that without killing her. While the heat of the flames was very real, Matilda saw that they largely stayed where they were as they blazed next to wooden furniture or doors without touching them.

She could hear the sounds of orphans crying as their home burned, but Matilda honestly didn't care. There was one person in this orphanage she valued. Tiffania would be found and brought out. The others could wait. Louise would naturally object, but she wasn't in the orphanage now.

"Tiffania! Tiffania!"

Nothing. Matilda looked frantically around and noticed a set of stairs. As she clambered up, she heard a familiar cry.

"Tiffania, hold on! I'm coming!"

Matilda reached the second floor, looked around, and finally spotted her. Tiffania was crouched in a corner, cowering in fear. A wall of white flame completely surrounded her and prevented her escape.

"Damnit."

Matilda cursed to herself. The White Flame, Menvil's speciality. Theoretically, given enough time, she could deactivate Menvil's spell with her own magic. But "enough time" meant several hours at the least, if not one or two complete days. And Menvil was somewhere in this orphanage. This meant that Matilda would need to-

SMASH.

And then Matilda's world exploded. She wasn't sure…what quite happened. Something fell on top of her. Something large…and heavy…and wooden. She could make out Tiffania screaming her name, but Matilda felt dazed from the impact. Also, there was something on top of the wood. Something on top of the wood…or someone?

"Oh, my. Have I squashed a little rat?"

There was dust everywhere which served to obscure the figure standing on top of it, but it was a man. Which meant…

"Menvil?"

"Oh, so Wardes told you about me. And you must be Fouquet."

Matilda managed to look up. A man with his face covered by burn scars leered down at her, holding a long metal rod.

"I guess he got distracted then? Well, no matter. The trap worked pretty well, if I say so myself. It wasn't that hard to sense you running downstairs, and so I just used fire to collapse the above floor on top of you. Caught like a rat in a trap, huh?"

Menvil laughed and then looked down at Matilda. The woman below struggled to get the floorboard off of her, but the weight and Menvil standing on top was too heavy.

"Still, part of our mission is to kill you, so I guess I'll deal with that now." He said. "Don't worry. I won't burn you completely. I need to take your head back to Gallia for proof. Perhaps Joseph will impale it on a pike outside the city walls."

He pointed the rod at Matilda and flames began to swirl around one end. The elven girl began to scream, but Menvil paid no attention.

"Fireba-"

"Spike!"

A spear of earth erupted from under the floor and pierced Menvil's shoulder. The flame mage grunted in pain and jumped back, but then he abruptly looked at his wand. The flames had vanished, and Menvil's eyes widened in shock.

"A spell failure!"

BOOM.

Distracted by Matilda's attack, Menvil had placed the wrong amount of magical energy into his fireball. The result was an indiscriminate explosion of fire energy that encompassed the room. Even though the floorboard on top of her granted some protection, Matilda winced as the flames brushed past her body.

However, while Menvil had not been harmed by the explosion, he had been blown off the floorboard. Matilda took the moment to push the floorboard off and stand upright. She positioned herself between Menvil and Tiffania, preventing the former from taking the latter hostage.

"That was quite a nasty little trick, thief." Menvil said as he extricated himself from the rubble. "But I am the White Flame. You are not going to be able to hurt me with my own spells."

"Well, then I will just hurt you with mine."

"Which spells?" Menvil leered. "The terrain, thief, is to my advantage. Maybe if you faced me outside, you could use your trademark golems to defeat me. But what do you think will happen to the orphanage if you summon one here? What do you think will happen to your precious Tiffania?"

Fouquet gritted her teeth in response.

"Sure, you can use the standard earth spells against me. But I think you know that won't work-"

Menvil abruptly cut off as he felt something in the air. A threat, coming from directly behind him.

And as he wheeled around, before he could cast a spell, one of Guiche de Gramont's Valkyries prepared to slash him with a bronze sword.

…

Wardes analyzed the situation.

Louise stood in front of him, her wand glowing with the power of Void. She had just attacked him without even signaling the beginning of the duel. Furthermore, Wardes wasn't certain about how much force he could use against Louise. He guessed that Joseph would prefer that he not kill her, but he wasn't completely certain. Besides, there was a good chance that he couldn't afford to hold back in this battle.

He looked over at the man next to Louise. A mercenary, but clearly a mage and almost certainly a wind one – Wardes could tell that the man was using magic to keep something on his back invisible, and only wind magic could perform such a feat. He didn't know what level the mercenary was, and that would be a problem. But just as he began to think of a strategy to handle both of them, the mercenary began to walk away from Wardes and Louise.

"What do you think you are doing, mercenary?" Wardes yelled.

"This is a fight between you and her." The mercenary responded. "Not mine. I'll stay here to keep Louise in check and make sure nothing too terrible happens, but not much more."

He sat down on a pile of rubble next to one of Menvil's flames, pulled out a cigar from under his clothes, and lit it. Wardes looked away from him, towards Louise…

And saw her pointing her wand at herself and chanting something too low for him to hear. She finished and Wardes prepared for an attack, but Louise glowed for a second and nothing more occurred. Still, Wardes knew something had happened. If he didn't want to find out what Louise had just done, he needed to strike quickly.

That in fact was Wardes's main advantage. Void was powerful. Extremely powerful. If he gave Louise a chance, especially as furious as she was, she would overwhelm him. But while Void was stronger than his wind magic, he knew Louise the mage was far inferior to Wardes.

"Ubiquitous Dell Wind."

And she was definitely inferior to _four_ of him. Three copies of Wardes emerged, each with their own wands and their own power.

"Be proud, Louise." Wardes declared. "I only use this spell on those whom I view as worthy. Now, I will show you what I can do!"

BOOM

Louise said absolutely nothing. As she launched another Explosion, two of the Wardes pointed their wands at the other two's wands.

"Air Needle!"

A sword of air surrounded the two wands and those two Wardes, both clones, charged at Louise. The original Wardes and the other clone stayed back and cast a torrent of wind at Louise.

Louise did not chant an incantation, nor did she even cast a spell. But the power of her rage meant that with a wave of her wand, a series of Explosions laced through the air. However, the charging Wardes were too fast to be hit by her attacks, and then she was blasted by the hurricane cast by the other Wardes. Against a normal person, Wardes observed, the wind would have blown him into a nearby wall, causing an almost fatal impact.

But Louise defended herself. No, that was not the right word. "To defend herself" implied that she attempted to protect herself from the hurricane, and Louise did no such thing. She took the power of the spell head on, without taking a step back or showing pain. Cuts appeared on Louise's body, and Wardes could see them grow worse the longer she stood in the hurricane. But throughout it all, Louise stood, ferociously attacking Wardes with her magic.

_Good grief_, he thought to himself as he charged, _she has gone completely insane with anger. I can't afford to hold back, then._

The charging Wardes jumped as they dodged yet another Explosion, and the ones at the back ended the torrent of wind to avoid hitting their comrades. The clone charged to join the other two, while the original Wardes stayed back. There was no need to put himself in danger, and he could also monitor the mercenary to prevent him from trying anything against the clones.

The two clones held back as they waited for their comrade, dodging additional Explosions as they prepared their wandswords. Despite the danger of the nearby enemy, Louise did not retreat, but instead continued to attack with Void magic.

"Ready?"

The clones nodded amongst each other and then closed the gap with Louise. They leaped over one last Explosion and prepared their swords. Since Joseph almost certainly would prefer for Louise to be left alive, they would not kill her, but content themselves with merely crippling attacks.

BOOM

Louise fired another spell, but it was too late. The Wardes were too close for her to properly to hit them.

"It's over, Louise." One observed. "You put up quite the barrage. But this is the end for you."

One aimed for her right arm, the other for her left leg, the last for her stomach. They slashed with their wandswords…

But hit nothing but air.

"What?!"

The clones simultaneously gave a shout of surprise. They could see Louise standing in front of them. Nevertheless, as the clones tried again, their wandswords only hit air.

"Osu Suunu Uryu Ru Rado"

Then all of the Wardes heard it. A chant in the language of Void echoed throughout the entire street. But while the Wardes could not tell where the voice was coming from, they saw that the voice was not coming from the "Louise" in front of them.

"Where in Brimir's name is she?!"

"Beoozusu Yuru Suvyueru Kano Oshera"

"UP THERE!"

The clones wheeled around towards the original Wardes, who frantically gestured towards the rooftops. Louise stood atop one of those rooftops, her wand raised and eyes closed. As they realized the situation, the clones ran towards their original, determined to protect him.

"Jera Isa Unjyuu Hagaru Beookun Iru…"

BOOM.

It wasn't a full-fledged Explosion like the one which had destroyed the Albion fleet. Louise, standing on the rooftops, still had the presence of mind to know that she could not destroy the buildings by the street. Not with Matilda and Guiche inside the still-burning orphanage and herself on top of one the buildings.

But as long she didn't hit Martin in the process, she _could_ destroy the street itself. As she watched the ball of light swallow the street and carve a crater into the ground, she felt the cold satisfaction of revenge burn in her heart.

…

"So, is that the best you can do, boy?"

Menvil smiled as the fourth of Guiche's Valkyries disintegrated. Four more surrounded the young blonde, but his hands holding his rose wand visibly shook at the result.

"What…what is going on?" Guiche panted. "You didn't even cast a spell! Just how did you protect yourself?"

"Can you really not figure it out, boy?" Menvil sneered. "I am the White Flame. One of the greatest fire mages in the land. I can easily protect myself with flames from any and all physical attacks."

"Spear!"

Matilda launched a spike of earth at Menvil, but the fire mage did not even turn around. He raised his left hand, pointed it back at the attack, and destroyed it with a blast of fire. He then launched a second fireball at Guiche, who jumped out of the way. However, two more of his golems were destroyed and melted.

"I will have to take Fouquet's head back, so it's best if I deal with you first." He said to Guiche. "Now, do you have anything that can actually harm me, or are you completely dependent on those miserable golems?"

"S-shut up!" Guiche yelled. "You're just a common mercenary! I am fighting for the honor of the Gramont family?"

Menvil had readied another fireball, but then with a confused expression on his face, he stared at his foe.

"The Gramont family?" He asked.

"Y-yes." Guiche panted. "I am Guiche de Gramont, the fourth son of the Gramont family! I cannot lose to someone like you who does this!"

"Hoooooooooooo."

Menvil nodded to himself.

"That is very interesting. You do have the same hair color as the others. But then what are you doing here, Gramont? Should you not be at their estate, preparing to fight for the Vallieres?"

"I…"

Guiche seemed to hesitate.

"Oh, are you fighting for the Alliance?" Menvil laughed. "You are, aren't you? You would not be in Tristania otherwise. But then, you're a traitor to your family, huh?"

"No."

"There's nothing wrong with it, boy! Accept it! Accept that you're no longer a Gramont! Fight for your own wishes, your own desires! That's the best way to live life, to do as you please and to let no one stand in your way! And that's how I will live, until I find him!

In fact, boy, I've decided I like you. So, why don't you join me? We can combine forces to destroy that thief over there. Then we can return to Gallia, collect our payment, and I would show you how to live a life free of the rules which restrict our potential as mages! Is that not wonderful?"

"Does your way cause you to set this building on fire?" Guiche snorted.

"I do what I please, boy."

"I see. Then we have nothing to discuss"

Guiche waved his rose wand and four petals dripped off the flower onto the floor. They turned into additional Valkyries as they hit the floor, as the golems surrounded their master.

"Interesting." Menvil said. "You use the petals from your roses to create bronze golems. A fairly miserable spell. Still…"

He took a moment to glance at Matilda behind him. He saw that she had moved closer to Tiffania's flame prison, but she was doing something…on the ground. Maybe trying to liberate her sister? That would be a nuisance.

"It looks like your thief friend is planning something." He observed as he turned to Guiche. "So, consider yourself lucky, brat. I'll take care to burn you quickly and painlessly. But now before I show you something."

He didn't directly cast a spell at Guiche. Instead, Menvil charged at him, wielding his rod like a club. Guiche sent the eight Valkyries forward and began to summon more from his rose petals.

"That the best you can do, boy?"

However, the metal creatures were completely helpless. Wielding his rod like a heavy club, Menvil smashed some of the Valkyries aside like scrap. The rest attempted to attack him, only to burn and melt as Menvil shielded himself with a cloak of flames. He drew closer to Guiche, who raised his rose for another spell.

It was too late. Menvil cast a cloak of flames over his left hand, and with his arm slashed Guiche's rose wand in two. The young boy helplessly watched as the bud flew in the air before landing behind him. Caught by surprise, he fell onto the ground, powerless to stop Menvil from standing over him.

"No close combat capabilities." Menvil laughed. "You have no wandsword, nothing you can do to protect yourself when the enemy is too close for you to chant a spell. All you have are those pathetic golems. For any mage, that is a foolish mistake, boy."

Flames surrounded the tip of Menvil's rod as he charged a final spell.

"Goodbye, Gramont. Maybe your old father will join you soon."

THUD THUD THUD THUD.

"What?"

But before he could cast the spell, Menvil heard a noise coming from behind. A…loud noise of something charging at him. Something that was very big and heavy.

As Menvil wheeled around, he saw just what the noise was. An earth golem, large enough to fit into the burning building but still a foot higher and far bulkier than Menvil lumbered towards him. Fouquet gave a smile of triumph as she watched her creation prepare to attack Menvil.

"A creature of soil, stone, and clay." She declared. "Try to burn that instead of bronze, White Flame."

Menvil instantly used the blast of fire he had charged to attack the golem, but it completely failed. The golem continued its march, while Menvil took a step backwards behind Guiche…

And began to laugh again. An uproarious laughter, filled with maniacal joy, filled the air. His rod again charged with flames.

"You want me to burn your cheap pet? I accept, Fouquet!"

Without any further hesitation, Menvil charged at the golem himself. Another blast of flame, far greater than the earlier attack, engulfed the creature.

But it seemed to do nothing as the golem continued its march. It reached Menvil, and one of its hands grabbed Menvil's wrist holding the wand while the other made to swing at the fire mage's face.

"Guh!"

Menvil grabbed the golem's punch with his other hand. Fortunately for him, he had managed to position the staff so that it still continued to breathe fire onto the golem. The two of them wrestled with each other. The golem attempted to physically overpower Menvil while Menvil poured more flames onto the golem.

"Not bad, Fouquet, not bad!" Menvil yelled. "But not good enough! Even an earth golem cannot defeat me!"

As Menvil and Matilda watched, the golem began to weaken in the face of the relentless flame. Small chips of rock smoldered and fell onto the ground. Menvil began to push the golem back, laughing all the way

"I've changed my mind, Fouquet! I know I was supposed to bring your head back, but I won't bother! I'll just burn you into ashes! Burn you and watch you scream for mercy and watch you beg! Oh, don't worry. I'll leave Tiffania alive. Wardes would probably try to kill me if I didn't, and that would be an annoying fight right after this. But no good for you! Hahahahahahahahaha-"

Menvil abruptly stopped laughing.

The flame magic from his metal rod abruptly went out. The flame mage slowly looked down, at his stomach….

From where a bronze sword protruded.

"You said I had no close combat capabilities?"

The fire mage slowly turned his face towards the voice behind him. Guiche de Gramont stood right behind him, both hands clenching the handle of the sword which had just entered Menvil's stomach.

And on Guiche's chest, a rose bud rested.

"I am the youngest son of General Gramont. The scion of a military family, Menvil. It would be a dishonor if I did not know how to fight without my magic."

Guiche pulled the sword out of Menvil's stomach. The fire mage slowly tottered onto the ground, dropping the staff. Behind Matilda and throughout the orphanage, the flames covering the orphanage and imprisoning Tiffania began to go out.

"Your magic is running out of control," Matilda mused behind her golem. "Well then, Menvil. Do you have any final words?"

"No..." the fire mage hoarsely spat. "No. You can't do this. I can't die here. It's too soon, I can't, I can't…"

"Are you beginning for your life?" Matilda coolly asked. "Not even thirty seconds ago you were describing how you would slowly burn me alive. And now you beg?"

"I'm not begging." Menvil cried as blood leaked from his wound and mouth. "I can't die here, not yet, not yet. I didn't accomplish it yet, I never got the chance to meet the person who burned me, how can this be, how can this…"

Menvil tried to desperately crawl away, but Matilda's golem kept stride with him.

"No….nonononononononNONONONONONON ONO! HOW CAN THIS BE, THE FLAME SERPENT, I CAN'T DIE UNTIL I MEET THE FLAME SERPENT AT LAST, I CAN'T I CAN'T DIE NONONONONONONO-"

"Oh, shut up."

As Menvil hysterically continued to scream for the "Flame Serpent", whoever he was, Matilda's golem raised a large stone foot over his head. When it came down, Guiche turned away, but Matilda watched the result. Blood spattered onto her face and blond hair.

…

"Haah…haaah…."

Louise's Explosion had not touched the building, but that did not meant it had not left an impact. A massive crater had been carved into the road due to her explosion.

And at the bottom of that crater, Wardes lay. His clothes were torn and his wandsword had been destroyed in the attack. But he was alive. He had used his clones to throw him towards the edge of the explosion to help deflect the impact. Obviously, his clones had perished, but he had managed to escape with his life. But he could do little beyond breathe and watch.

As he watched, the flames engulfing the orphanage went out. Wardes muttered a curse under his breath.

"Menvil lost, as well? That bastard. He got too overconfident like always…"

There was movement at the edge of the crater, and Wardes looked up. Louise stood at the top. She looked down at Wardes for a moment. Then she slowly began to make her way down towards her. The crater was caked with dirt and mud from the explosion which messed up her shoes, but Louise continued to make her way down. Her gaze was still blank, though Wardes felt her continuing anger.

She finally stopped besides him. While Wardes normally could have physically overpowered her at this range, he completely lacked the strength to do so. He could only helplessly watch as Louise pointed her wand at his head, its tip glowing with magical power.

"Good bye, Wardes."

"Wait."

Wardes managed to hoarsely croak out a single word. Louise tilted her head, her expression not changing in the slightest.

"What is it?"

"What…was that? What was that Louise on the street? Was that…an Illusion?"

Louise shrugged in response.

"I know four Void spells." She calmly said. "Explosion, Dispel, Teleport, and Illusion. The last one permits me to fool your senses, create things which really aren't there. I made a Louise, one who was even more filled with rage than I am right now. And then I teleported to a place where I could prepare an Explosion to defeat you."

"I…see…"

Wardes coughed up some blood before he continued.

"You have grown strong, Louise. I always knew you had that potential. That was always why I wanted to marry you. The chance to have a child, with the power between your Void power and the Valliere and Wardes bloodlines. It would have been something…incredible."

"So you didn't care about me, then? Just my power? Were you planning to kill me like you did to Her Majesty?"

"I didn't kill Henrietta, Loui-"

"Oh, SHUT UP!" Louise cried. "You were there! Don't wriggle out of your crimes because you didn't actually strike the blow yourself! You would have done so if that soldier hadn't done it first!"Wardes shut up.

Power glowed from Louise's wand as she prepared the Explosion. One that would be aimed at her fiancé's head.

"I can give you something in return, if you let me go." Wardes gasped. "Information. Information which you and your partner would find very valuable."

"Does it make up for Her Majesty's death?" Louise snarled.

"In a way, yes." Wardes breathed. "You are in danger."

Louise's stoic expression broke into a sarcastic grin at those words.

"Really?" She chuckled. "I had not realized that at all. With a civil war occurring where both sides will likely kill me if they win? No, Wardes, I am not in danger at all. Thank you for warning me, fiancé."

She once again pointed her wand down at Wardes and prepared the Explosion a third time. But then she felt a gust of wind from above her.

_Above?_

THUD.

Fortunately for Louise, training with Matilda had honed her combat instincts. Without looking up or even taking the time to think, she rolled to the side, away from danger. A second later, a griffin landed where Louise had just been. It grasped Wardes in one of its talons.

"You have really grown strong." Wardes laughed. "The old you would have gotten captured in my pet's other talon. Oh well."

"Why you!" Louise yelled as she prepared a spell.

"Don't bother. By the time you get off an Explosion, my loyal steed will fly me out of your range." Wardes said. "However, you did defeat me, and that is a stain on my honor. So in return, I will give you a piece of advice."

Louise fumed at her failure. Yet while she did not put her wand away, she did not cast a spell. Wardes nodded appreciatively.

"Beware of my father."

"What?"

"Beware of my father." Wardes repeated. "You may think I'm a traitor, Louise. You may blame me for Henrietta's murder, or for the war, or whatever. You may condemn me or curse me. I don't particularly care.

But I'm nowhere at his level. Perhaps in another world, where I hadn't been so badly injured, I would have gone and killed him before he could set his plans into motion. But that is mere speculation. Still, he has his own plans, separate from the war, and he cannot be trusted. You would do well to remember that."

The griffin took off the minute Wardes finished, and Louise stood there, watching the beast fly off. Muttering under her breath, she stowed her wand away and sat in the middle of the pit. As she rested, she heard the tramping of soldiers and other men, rushing to likely aid the burned orphanage.

…

"I am not to be disturbed, Jerome."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

The Valliere butler closed the door behind Karin and left her alone in a large but empty room. Sunlight beamed down from a window high above her and onto the plain wooden floor. Karin took eight precise steps forward, and then knelt down at the exact center of the chamber, her legs folded underneath her thighs. She closed her eyes and began to breathe deeply.

It was a daily ritual for her. Once a day, she liked to find a quiet and secluded place where she would be alone with nothing but her thoughts and feelings. It helped insure that she followed the path of the Rule of Steel, and that she would not lose herself to passion and uncontrolled emotion. While she did not need it at this moment, she had long noted that her willpower reserves with which she cast her powerful wind spells grew and regenerated faster during this activity.

Jerome had called her "Your Majesty", but she was not Queen of Tristain yet. She did not believe it appropriate to dub herself Queen of a divided country and had declared that she would take the crown when the war was over, and not a moment before. Preparing for the war, after all, meant that she would be extremely busy. She had to acknowledge the support of the nobles who had allied with her, cajole the neutral nobles to join her side, organize her own armies, and somehow still govern the extensive Valliere territories in Eastern Tristain. More nobles supported her than Guldenhorf, but the Alliance had advantages of their own. They had gained control of Tristania, which in and of itself had not surprised Karin due to the proximity of the city to Guldenhorf territory. The news of General Bonaparte's coup d'etat, however, had quietly displeased her. She had understood upon hearing the news that he was the head of the Alliance that Bonaparte was likely meant to be a puppet to attract commoner support, but he had proven to be surprisingly assertive.

There was also the matter of geography. Guldenhorf, Wardes, and most of the nobles who supported them generally controlled the center of Tristain, while the Vallieres controlled the east, Walloon the south, and Gramont the west. That posed advantages and disadvantages – if her side could unite, they could overwhelm Guldenhorf, but if they couldn't, the Alliance would likely destroy them piecemeal.

If.

No, now was not the time, Karin thought as she shook her head. Now was not the time to think about politics. It was time to quietly and calmly contemplate her inner thoughts, during these little moments of peace she owned.

_Tap. Tap._

Unfortunately, her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of something hitting the floor behind her. Karin did not open her eyes, nor did she turn around. She knew, from the sound alone, who it was behind her.

"You have not returned to this estate in a long time, Wardes."

The door to the room had never been opened. Nevertheless, the head of the Fifth family of Tristain, Wardes the Elder, hobbled forward towards Karin, his left hand clutching a gnarled oaken cane.

"Eh heh heh heh heh. It has indeed been a long time, Lady Valliere. Or perhaps I should call you Your Majesty like your butler did?"

Karin stood up and turned to face Wardes. The old man looked about the same as ever. He wore a cheap, plain black robe and his beady little eyes gleamed at her. But Karin noticed the important thing immediately.

"Your rat isn't with you?"

Wardes once again gave a dry laugh, but he said nothing more. Karin closed her eyes…

And then, without even uttering a single word, she cast a wind spell to shoot her forward. Karin rocketed forward, her wandsword in her hands.

SLASH.

Wardes never even had a chance to react. His head went flying into a corner, its malevolent grin still written on his face. His body dropped to its knees and collapsed onto the floor.

But no blood came out of the corpse. As Karin stowed her wand back into her dress, it simply laid there inert for several seconds, before it finally dissolved into a pile of ashes. As the ashes in their turn vanished, the sound of laughter echoed from seemingly the very walls of the room.

"Eh heh heh heh heh." The voice of Wardes laughed. "Now what was the point of that, Lady Valliere? We both know that you cannot kill me like that."

Karin said nothing nor did she draw out her wand again. But her eyes stared daggers into the nearby walls.

"Ahhhh, your famous killing air. How impressive. But come now, Lady Valliere. Come now. I am here to talk. There is no need to exhibit such rudeness."

"The only thing I want to hear from you, Wardes, is your surrender." Karin coldly stated. "And if you had come to surrender, you would have brought your real body with you. Not one of your fakes."

"Fakes?" The voice echoed. "You called what you destroyed a fake? No, that body was real, Karin. Do you realize what effort I put to create it? What pain you have put me through by destroying it? Every inch of me, of my soul, it burns with pain and fire that you cannot EVER comprehend through your actions, you know. Picture every inch of your skin being flayed and burned by a sword forged in the very heat of the sun, and you would know a hundredth of the pain that I am in…right…now."

"Perhaps that is why I killed you, then."

"Eh heh heh heh heh. That is good spirit, Lady Valliere!" Wardes laughed. "If you were anyone else, I would punish you right here and right now for your insolence. The irony of a battle between the two of us would be quite interesting given recent events."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, your daughter just defeated my son." Wardes responded. "It was quite the battle, but she won. He did manage to get away, though, which is a pity. I could have described what happened in detail to you, but now I only have a limited amount of time before my power will run out in this room.

So let us get down to business. I would like to extend an invitation to you, Lady Valliere. To my estate. There is something I would like to show you and other things which I would like to talk to you about, but even if I had enough magical power to stay in this room for a while, I would rather not discuss such matters here. Therefore, I would like you to come visit me. Alone. Even though you do not need it anyways, I swear to not harm you at all."

"And how do I know," Karin asked, "That you're not simply asking this to keep me distracted and prevent me from mobilizing my forces?"

"Well, I am." Wardes said. "I do have something I'd like to discuss of grave importance, but yes, I'd like to keep you out of the way. Still, I should note that you would be keeping me out of the way as well, you know."

"You cannot suggest that our forces are equal, Wardes. You know very well that I'm a far stronger mage than you, and the Valliere estate is far greater than yours. The prestige of your family has heavily declined over the years, after all."

"Well, in a one on one duel?" Wardes observed. "I have no hope of even touching you in a duel, much less defeating you. I freely admit that. Of course, the problem is that war is not a series of one on one duels. And I think you know, Lady Valliere, that my style of magic can have… particularly disastrous consequences in wartime."

Karin's eyes flashed at those words.

"You wouldn't _dare._ Her Majesty explicitly forbade that during the Albion War, Wardes!"

"I don't intend to use that for now." Wardes laughed. "Guldenhorf would likely severely object to it. But besides, I believe that keeping me occupied should be good enough for you. You would be leaving Guldenhorf to face Walloon and Gramont by himself, after all. Do you think Guldenhorf will be willing to face the legendary Marshal by himself?"

Several seconds ticked by without a response. But at last, Karin sharply nodded her head.

"I'll go to your estate and listen to what you have to say. But in return, Wardes, you will not mobilize your armies in the slightest. Not while I'm travelling, and not even when I leave. Only when I return to the Valliere home will you muster your forces. I, on the other hand, will leave my daughters behind to begin preparing in my stead while I am away."

"Those are quite some onerous terms, Valliere. But I can tell from your eyes that that is the only way that you will accept my conditions. Very well, then. But I can say that I will not be sitting idly, waiting for your arrival."

Even as irritated as she was right now, Karin shook her head.

"You're still working on that, Wardes? Give it up. I can discern dreams which are merely fantastic from those which are completely mad."

There was no answer to Karin's words. She looked up at the lone window and sighed.

"His power must have run out, then." She muttered.

Unfortunately, her plan to meditate had been disturbed for now, and Karin knew that her mind was a little too irritated with the sudden appearance to jump back into her task. She would come back later tonight then, she decided as she left the room.

"Mother?"

Even Karin jumped in surprise at the sight.. Eleanor stood before her, wearing a long gown to hide her horrifically scarred arms. One of her arms was draped around Cattleya as the younger sister had clearly helped Eleanor around to meet her mother.

"Eleanor…" Karin gasped. "What are you doing? I know you awoke from your injuries a few days ago, but you still need to recover. There's no reason for you to be wandering about like this."

"I was tired of the room," Eleanor softly laughed. "And wanted to wander about. Cattleya helped me around so I'll be fine if anything goes wrong. Right, sister?"

Cattleya nodded and smiled back at Eleanor, but said nothing. One of Karin's brows furrowed as she looked over Eleanor.

"Are you sure you're all right? Eleanor, we are at war, and you were badly attacked. I have an important task which I was planning to let Cattleya handle, but if you're all right…"

"You're demanding too much from Cattleya, mother. She's been busy taking care of me…and she needs to be taken care of as well, you know."

"I'm fine, Eleanor." Cattleya responded. "I'm fine. You don't need to worry about me."

"You were coughing blood again." Eleanor said. "I know you tried to hide it from me, but I saw it. You're overexerting yourself these days."

Cattleya said nothing more, but averted her eyes from both Eleanor and Karin.

"Enough." Karin said. "If both of you are unwell, then I'll have to entrust it to both of you. Listen to me…"

As Karin explained the situation and gave her instructions on mustering the Valliere forces, she paid close attention to both of them. It was incredibly obvious that Eleanor was still very weak. With one arm draped over Cattleya, she clearly could not stand on her own. But her mind was energetic. She asked questions, inquired about the reasons for her mother's departure, and enthusiastically declared that she would do what was necessary to prepare for the war, even though she had been unconscious when the negotiations had collapsed.

Cattleya, on the hand, was problematic even if Karin ignored the problems with her second daughter's health. She listened as well as Eleanor did, perhaps even better. But she asked no questions nor did she offer any suggestions. She simply repeated herself once again. For while Cattleya talked to Eleanor when she had woken up, she would only say three words to her mother ever since Karin had returned with Tristania. Always with a smile and a tone of sincerity, but Karin couldn't help but worry as she heard those words again and again.

"Yes, _Your Majesty."_


	44. The Devil: Chapter 4

"_In revolution, there are two sorts of men: those who cause them, and those who profit by them."_

Napoleon Bonaparte

…

…

"WAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

The shriek of squalling infants and children flooded the Mayor's palace in the capital of Tristania. They crowded next to one another, seeking comfort and protection in the arms of each other. Few seemed to take notice of the splendid tiled floors on which they sat, nor the beautiful brass columns which held the ceiling up. It was hardly unexpected – just a few hours ago, the tiny trinkets and the home in which these orphans lived had been ripped away by a great fire.

The mothers of the orphanage jostled through the children, passing out bread and talking to the children. But amidst those women, a man dressed in a blue military uniform also helped. His thin, sallow hair draped over his face as he doled out the food with a smile on his face.

Napoleon Bonaparte inwardly chuckled at his actions. He had once ruled an entire continent, had been the most powerful man in the world, and had created an empire which had been without equal since the days of Charlemagne, if not Augustus himself. But now here he was, doling out foods to orphans in a completely different world.

A different world indeed, he thought, as he turned to look at a palace wall. His partner, Louise Francoise le blanc de la Valliere, the one who had summoned him to this land of Helgekinia lay on the wall, her eyes closed with sleep and her long pink hair almost covering her like a blanket. Two woman stood behind her – one was a tall woman, with short blonde hair, her eyes continually darting from Louise to the orphans to the orphanage mothers to the other woman besides Louise. This was Matilda Duvall, who had once been the famous thief Fouquet. Captured by Napoleon's men, she had sworn loyalty to Louise and had changed her appearance to hide herself from those who wanted to hunt her down.

The other woman was also a blonde, though her hair was longer. She wore a green tunic, but it only served to barely cover her…assets. What was her name again? Right, Tiffania. Matilda seemed to care about Tiffania a great deal, but even Napoleon was not totally sure why.

Napoleon had considered rousing Louise from her sleep to make her help the orphans, but he decided otherwise. She had won a great victory, after all. Matilda had told Napoleon what had happened in front of the orphanage. About how Louise's former fiancé, the son of Lord Wardes, had with his comrade Menvil attacked and burned the orphanage to find Tiffania. Louise had fought the younger Wardes, who had once been a loyal knight of Tristania before turning traitor, while Matilda and Guiche de Gramont had fought Menvil. And Louise had won, though Wardes had managed to escape.

Napoleon could hardly believe it himself. Yes, he had seen Louise's potential from the day she had summoned him – it was the reason he had chosen to stay with the young girl after all this time. He had seen the effort she made to prove herself a mage worthy of the Valliere name, even when her mother had disowned her. But it was the first time she had won a true battle to the death, and against a triangle-level mage too.

So, he would let her rest. He would deal with taking care of the orphans. He had recently secured control of Tristania, the capital of the country of Tristain, but his grip was not that powerful. He needed time to earn the loyalty of the people.

"General Bonaparte!"

Napoleon looked up towards the entrance. A burly, bearded soldier, over 2 meters tall stood at attention. Pausing to distribute a little more bread and to excuse himself from the orphanage mothers, Napoleon strode over to Owen Foucard, a former comrade in arms who he had appointed to take charge of Tristania's internal security.

"Yes, what is it?"

"The old city watch commander has offered to turn over his men over to me. They would join the Internal Security Army of Tristanian Safety but I wanted to talk to you about-"

"Slow down for a moment. The what?"

"The Internal Security Army of Tristanian Safety." Foucard declared. "You gave me orders to establish a new organization to ferret out spies and traitors, but you never bothered to give it a name. Does it displease you, sir?"

"Fine, fine, call it what you please." Napoleon said. "But what is it? Is there some problem with the old city watch?"

"None, sir. Or rather, none which should concern you. The city watch is corrupt to a man. Every Tristanian knows how they shake down the merchants and people for 'protection'. It's unbefitting of a soldier. But if you have any objections to me placing the city watch under the command of the Internal Security Army, I will see it done. After I purge them of criminals, Valliere loyalists, and traitors."

"I have no problem with it. Is there any other business, Foucard?"

"There is one more thing. A messenger recently arrived from Lord Guldenhorf, sir. Here is the letter that he had with him."

Napoleon took the letter and tore it open. His expression remained impassive as his eyes travelled down the pages. After reading it only once, he then tore it into pieces.

"Tell Matilda to tell Louise that I will be out for a while, but I will return to my chambers later this evening. I hope that she can see me when I return from my preparations."

"Preparations? Preparations for what?"

"Leaving." Napoleon said. "Guldenhorf has summoned me. Walloon and Gramont are preparing to attack, and Guldenhorf wishes my presence. He did not explicitly ask for it, but I intend to bring what forces I can muster – whether he wants them or not."

Foucard nodded. Without another word, Napoleon left the palace, away from the squalling orphans and his sleeping partner.

…

…

"Is everything ready, Captain?"

"I should like to demonstrate it myself, sir."

With those words, a gruff, bearded man with clothes like those of a tramp drew a beautiful sword. He pointed it across the parade ground, at a group of around 50 men. Napoleon stood alongside the bearded man, dressed in a full military uniform, complete with a sword buckled at his side.

"Ready!"

As Napoleon watched, the fifty men began the steps to load the flintlocks which they had received. The bearded man next to him, Captain Jacques Stewart, shouted the steps to load, position, aim, and finally…

"FIRE!"

The sounds of triggers being pressed could be heard, but that was all. None of the guns actually fired. Captain Stewart shrugged and turned towards Bonaparte.

"That's the best we can do for now, General. We have managed to make and scrounge up enough powder and balls for a short battle. But we cannot afford to spare what little we have in order to actually practice firing them. These pantomimes are the best that we can do for now."

"Of course." Bonaparte nodded. "If I'm correct, we do have around 600 soldiers under our command, correct?"

"800, sir. Many of them are currently patrolling the streets right now, but I will have them ready to march as soon as possible. We will be marching south, correct?"

Napoleon pulled out a map and laid it out on the parade ground.

"This is a map of the country of Tristain. As you know, the capital is in the northwest portion of the country. The first family, the Vallieres control the east and the border with Germania. The second family, the Guldenhorfs, our supposed allies, are directly north of the capital. Meanwhile, the Vallieres' main allies in the families of Marshall Gramont and Walloon control the southwest and the center of Tristain respectively, while the fifth family, Wardes, is stuck in between Guldenhorf, Valliere, and Walloon lands. While of course the lesser families have been far more varied in which side they've chosen, if they've not chosen to remain neutral, the safe rule of thumb is that the southern, western, and eastern Tristain families support the Valliere family while the north and center are opposed.

I received a letter from Guldenhorf recently which stated that the Gramont and Walloon armies are marching together to link up with one another. Guldenhorf is moving to attempt to intercept them, but consequently, since I am nominally the head of the anti-Valliere Alliance, he is demanding my presence."

"Guldenhorf can summon tens of thousands of soldiers." Stewart observed. "I must admit, General, I did not expect him to summon you at all."

"I am slightly surprised myself. Guldenhorf is more powerful than either Gramont or Walloon, and could even beat them even if they do combine. Yet Guldenhorf would not bother to ask I come if he was feeling completely confident." Napoleon mused. "Unless…"

"He is worried about facing Marshall Gramont?"

Napoleon nodded.

"Possibly. Marshall Gramont is an old man, but he is a legendary commander. He stamped out many rebellions against the Royal Family's rule in his youth and is renowned for his strategic skills. Guldenhorf likely wants every soldier he can get in order to ensure his victory, even if he would prefer that I did nothing."

"Begging your pardon, sir," Captain Stewart asked, "But perhaps it might be better to wait in the capital and refuse Guldenhorf's summons?"

Napoleon looked over at Stewart.

"What are you suggesting?"

"That we wait and bide our time, sir. This could be a trap. You may be the nominal head of the Alliance, but Guldenhorf is the true head, and he has every reason to keep you out of the way. If you go, he could overwhelm the few men that you can bring with you, and take you and Louise hostage. It might be better until you can approach Guldenhorf from a position of strength."

"You may be right." Napoleon said. "If I had time to wait, I would probably decline. Unfortunately, I do not."

"But if you wait, you could strengthen your control over the city."

"Not necessarily." Napoleon responded. "For a time, yes. The people are generally supportive of my execution of the previous mayor and the security I've provided. But the execution of the mayor was a spectacle. The amusement from spectacles do not last forever. Eventually, the people will suffer from the hardships of war, from losing their sons and brothers, not to mention the general deprivation that war creates. And since I would be running Tristania? I would get blamed for it. In the meantime, if I go and win? I become a hero and even more popular."

Stewart nodded, and then stood rigidly at attention.

"Very well." He declared. "I will admit that I still do not like it, sir, but I understand. Please allow me to accompany you."

"I would insist that you do. And do not worry, Stewart. If Guldenhorf attacks, then he loses Tristania. He is already at a disadvantage in this war to begin with; he cannot afford to lose what few advantages he does have. Now if you do not mind, I need to ask you about Guiche. How is he?"

"He's doing better." Stewart said. "He was a right mess when he arrived a few days ago. I can't really blame him. He clearly didn't want to fight against his family, but thanks to that stupid oath he took to serve you to the end, he had no choice. Still, that fight against those mages that attacked the orphanage seems to have helped him a bit. The soldiers threw a great welcome for him when he returned a while ago. He's currently out patrolling, but the word is that there might be a party at the barracks tonight."

"And you intend to break it up?"

"Oh, come now, General Bonaparte." Stewart grinned. "I know the men view me as a harsh drillmaster, but it's to celebrate a good soldier and his valor today. Just as long as they don't get too raucous, I'll look the other way. Just this once."

"He's not a good soldier, Stewart." Napoleon observed, bending down to roll up the map. "He's a good mage. And those are even rarer than good soldiers."

"So, you intend to take him along with you?"

"Yes. Is there a problem? You were just praising him, after all."

"Of course." Stewart said. "But the fact remains that he's a former Gramont, and on top of that, his girlfriend's family, the Montmorency family, is fighting for the Vallieres as well. No doubt I can count on him to fight men who seek to burn down orphanages. But what about if I need to fight his brother Robert? Can we count on him then?"

"All the more reason for him to come along. If we cannot count on Guiche's loyalty, then it is best that he stays close so that we can keep an eye on him."

Stewart nodded. Napoleon stowed the map in his coat and saluted his captain.

"We will be leaving in two days, at most three. Make sure the men have not drank themselves to death by then."

"Very well, sir."

With those words, Napoleon left the barracks. But when he was certain that Stewart could no longer see him, he grabbed his sword with his left hand and drew it partly out of its scabbard. As he did so, the old runes, the symbol of his contract with Louise as familiar and master, glowed.

Stewart was not wrong about his concerns of a Guldenhorf trap. But there were things he did not know about, and which he did not need to know about. Even if he practically never used his power, Napoleon was the Gandalfr familiar, capable of defeating thousands of soldiers with his legendary mastery of arms. Louise was a Void mage who knew spells which could devastate an entire city. It's not like Guldenhorf knew of those things either – but if he did try to bully Napoleon, or even worse take him hostage, he would find himself in a fight for his life. He would almost certainly win in the end given sheer force of numbers, but he would then be in utterly no shape to fight Gramont and Walloon.

Still, a trump card should always remain hidden until needed. If Napoleon began to suspect treachery by his "ally", then he would act. But only then.

…

…

"What, exactly, are you suggesting, Giono?"

As opposed to the hard parade ground of the barracks, Napoleon sat in a comfortable chair, a glass of wine in his hand. He couldn't help but pat his belly in contentment. He was at the home of his colleague Andre Giono, who had once been a printer but these days seemed to spend as much time hobnobbing with cultural figures and brokering information as he spent dealing with ink stains. Giono had grown fabulously rich from his newfound trade, and the two had just finished an excellent supper. Giono, a thin, balding old man, sat on the other side of the table. He only had water besides him, and a finger on his cheek suggested that he was deep in thought.

"I must admit, I was rather surprised at first." Andre Giono stated. "You know, Napoleon, given how long we have been working together…you did not plan this fire, did you?"

"No."

Giono looked at Napoleon for a few moments, then slowly nodded his head.

"I thought so, but I needed to make sure. Still, my agents have indicated that the response so far has been fairly positive to your reaction to that attack. But well-"

"_Fairly_ positive?" Napoleon inquired. "I stopped an orphanage from going ablaze and threatening the entire city. How could the reaction only be _fairly_ positive?"

"Well, that is the problem, Bonaparte. You didn't stop the fire. The Valliere girl did."

"What?"

"To be fair, from what I heard, your partner did not stop the fire either." Giono declared. "Her servant Matilda did by defeating the fire mage Menvil. But you have to look at what the common people saw. There was a fire, Wardes's son was running around, then Louise defeated him and the fire ended. Naturally, in the eyes of the people, Louise is the one responsible for stopping the fire, and she is the savior of the city.

Now, that is obviously not a major problem. Louise is loyal to you, and you responded to help the orphans afterwards. And as you know, the people were already grateful since you overthrew and executed the earlier mayor. But, for now, it is Louise who is the hero of the day."

Napoleon chuckled, and Giono raised an eyebrow.

"Is something wrong, Bonaparte?"

"No, nothing not at all." Napoleon smiled. "I must say, Giono, you underestimate me. You make it sound like I should be jealous of Louise or something."

"No, sir, that is not that I-"

"This actually works out better for me. As you said, the people were already generally loyal to me, and the orphanage fire certainly did not hurt my popularity. If the praise of the people is showered on Louise, then she will become more confident in herself. And a Louise who is more confident in herself makes a better magician, which will help in the war. I know I need every advantage I can get to defeat _all_ of my enemies."

Napoleon raised the glass to his lips, and then stared at Giono again.

"You have another question on your mind, do you not, Giono?"

"Yes. You told me just now that you, Louise, and your soldiers intend to leave Tristania within the next few days, do you not?"

"Correct. We need a little longer to prepare before marching north, but we should leave within three days at the most."

"Well, who is be in charge of Tristania when you are away?"

Napoleon arched an eyebrow.

"An odd question, Giono. I believe that during the last Council meeting, we had appointed a new mayor. A nice young commoner. He's willing to do the right thing, and he's reasonably capable. You of course will work to ensure the loyalty of the people, while Foucard and his new organization, the Internal Security Army, will protect them. I had thought it would be obvious."

"Sir, you did not quite answer the question. Yes, I know what my duties are. But who answers to who?"

A glint shone in Napoleon's eyes.

"The two of you are to answer to the mayor, naturally. But if there are any true conflicts, well, then I leave that up to your discretion. After all, I know I have your loyalty, Giono?"

"Y-yes sir!" Giono declared. "I thank you for the opportunity."

"I gave you no such opportunity you could have not seized for yourself." Napoleon responded. "I do expect to receive regular reports from you about what's going in Tristania and the rest of the country."

He drained the cup and set it down before standing up.

"One more thing, Giono. What news of the maid?"

"I have failed to find her. It's peculiar. She seems to have dropped off the map completely. I had suspected that someone working for the Vallieres found her, but the Lady Valliere is the kind of person who would put the maid up publicly as an example of justice."

"True." Napoleon mused. "Well, it is of no matter. I had hoped to find her, but I doubt she will play much of a role in the events to come. At this point, if you find her, just kill her and dump her in a ditch or in a river or something like that. There will be no need to make a public example. In fact, it may in fact be harmful as it would cause the people to think about Louise's father's death, thus stirring up further sympathy for the Valliere cause."

Giono nodded, and Napoleon left the house. This time, Napoleon would finally be returning to his home.

…

…

Napoleon had intended to rest by the fire when he returned, but unfortunately for him, nature called. He stayed in the privy for quite a long time, and by the time he exited, his face was drawn and haggard. Over the past decade or so of his life, relieving himself had always been a painful and arduous task, and the rich supper at Giono's house had not helped in the slightest.

Still, the pain couldn't help but remind Bonaparte of something important. He was 45 years old, no longer a young man. True, the presence of healing magic in Helgekinia meant that their nobility lived considerably longer than the elites of his old world, but Napoleon had pushed himself to the limit his entire life, fighting for glory. The reality was that he would be lucky to survive another twenty years of life. And how much could he accomplish? Even if he defeated the Lady Valliere, King Joseph Gaul, Guldenhorf, and everyone else who would threaten his drive for power, what would he be able to leave behind in the short time he would have left? Especially with his son Napoleon the second back on Earth?

He slightly limped over to the fireplace, sat down on a cushioned chair, and closed his eyes. The men of his world had always looked to Jesus Christ for inspiration. Those of Helgekinia looked up to Brimir. But Napoleon had always followed a different role model. Ever since he had read the Commentaries by Julius Caesar, it was him who he had looked up to his whole life. Caesar, who had overthrown the corrupt Senators, who had fought for Rome his entire life, and who had established the glorious Roman Empire. The Roman Empire that Bonaparte had admired so badly that he had styled himself Consul upon taking power and had his soldiers carry legionary eagles like the old legions. Caesar's legacy rested to this day, and had he not ruled for only five years? There was also the Roman emperor Aurelian, who in the 3rd century had brought order to the empire, saved it from the barbarians and the Palmyrians, only to be murdered just like Caesar. He had also ruled for a mere five years. If they could accomplish so much in 5 years, than he could certainly do as much in ten. Still, if he wanted to truly preserve his legacy, it would be necessary for him to have an heir at his age – but didn't he already have someone who would be fully capable of continuing his legacy.

Napoleon opened his eyes and looked over at said potential heir. Louise stood in the doorway. She was wearing the school uniform of the Tristain Academy of Magic. Louise had not been back to the academy since Princess Henrietta's death, Napoleon mused, but it was clear that she felt nostalgia for it – even if she had learned more in the past few months about people and magic than a thousand years at the Academy could have given her.

"Is there something you're waiting for?" Napoleon asked. "Come, sit. It's been a long day, for both of us."

He waved to another chair by the fire, and Louise complied.

"You were sleeping back in the palace there. Are you feeling all right?"

"I feel fine." Louise softly said.

Napoleon was slightly surprised by Louise's reaction. He was proud of her, he had said that much to Giono. Yet even though she had worked so hard to prove that she was a great mage, and shown it by defeating the younger Wardes…she didn't seem that proud of it herself.

"Are you sure?" Napoleon inquired. "Louise, is something wrong?"

"You know, Napoleon, that I was engaged to Wardes, right?"

Napoleon nodded.

"Did you know that it was since I was a child?"

This time, he shook his head.

"I'm sure you knew this already, but when I was a child, I couldn't do magic then either." Louise said. "Mother lectured me about it, Father was too busy managing the estate to do anything about it, Cattleya was ill, and Eleanor would join mother in the lectures. There was a boat by the lake where I would hide when I felt particularly depressed. No one knew about it. No one but Wardes. He would talk to me, cheer me up, and give me the strength to fight again.

If I think about it, I don't know if I ever loved him. But I know I admired him and trusted him. So when the reports came out about how he turned traitor, I didn't know what to do. And then, well, I met him. He told me that he was responsible for Henrietta's death. And that man who I had trusted? There's no one, no one in the world now that I hate more. I told him that I would kill him painfully for it, and I would have killed him if his pet griffon hadn't got in the way.

So, I'm just confused about everything. What does it mean to hate someone? What does it mean to love them?"

"They're similar, you know?"

"What?"

Napoleon sat back further into his chair.

"A long, long time ago, I know I told you about Josephine. Do you remember what I said?"

Louise thought back. It was a long time ago before the war with Albion had begun, shortly after Princess Henrietta had given her the Water Ruby, the ring which she still wore to this very day. He had called it a "stupid tale."

"There was once a man who was just a young officer." Napoleon continued. "The government he served passed a law banning all weapons, and the sword of a dead man was confiscated. The dead man's son implored me to return the weapon. I did so, and the dead man's widow came to thank me. She was a sophisticated, refined woman who had fallen upon hard times – much like some of the noble families here who were once great, but now no longer so.

I paid the widow a visit, and fell in love. She spurned me at first, but eventually we were married. But I rode off to fight battles, and she stayed back home. And when I was away, she incessantly flirted with other men, and sometimes did more."

"You mean that-!" Louise stammered, her face now bright red.

"Yes. That's what I mean." Napoleon said. "When I found out, I was enraged. I had a half a mind to abandon my campaigns, return home, and strangle the guts out of her. I obviously did no such thing. But that woman I had loved, I now hated. I would fall in love with her again, be enraged when she did more affairs, and the cycle repeated itself until we split apart for various reasons.

I'm not saying you still love Wardes. But there's nothing wrong in hating someone you loved. If anything, it's all the more likely to happen to those we love."

Louise nodded.

"Okay then." She said. "I'll be fine, okay? I know I've done a good thing, and I doubt we'll be seeing Wardes again for a while. But Napoleon, when are we going to be leaving?"

"I don't recall telling you about that yet." Napoleon responded.

"Foucard told me." Louise shrugged. "I'll admit that I don't like him, Napoleon. His new organization, the Internal Security Army? He talks about it too much. I have a bad feeling about it. I guess we'll be meeting up with Guldenhorf at last?"

Napoleon nodded.

"We'll need to get ready." He said. "What about Matilda? Will she accompany us, or will she stay here to take care of Tiffania?"

"Er, about that…"

"Huh?"

"Matilda is coming along. With Tiffania. After all," Louise declared, with just a hint of her normal pomposity, "She IS my servant! And if she needs Tiffania around, then there's no reasons she can't come along either."

"I have no objections." _An elf was always useful to take around anyways to scare the others,_ Napoleon thought to himself.

The two then fell silent for a moment, staring at the fireplace. But Napoleon cleared his throat. It was time to bring up the main subject, the reason he had called Louise tonight. It was the reason he had been thinking about his legacy, and the time he had left.

"Louise, there is something I would like to ask you. It's something important."

"What is it?"

"To get straight to business, I would like to make you my heir."

Louise gaped at those words.

"Come again?"

"It's as you heard," Napoleon said. "I would like to make you my heir, and for all purposes and intents adopt you as my daughter. You would become Louise Francoise Bonaparte, if you desired. If I die, you receive everything I own."

"D-die?!" Louise stammered. "Wait, are you ill? Are you okay, Napoleon?"

"We're going to war, Louise." Napoleon sighed. "Only a fool leaves his affairs out of order before he marches off to battle. So, what do you say?"

Louise sank back into her chair in clear shock, but did not say a word as the minutes ticked by. After a moment, Napoleon cleared his throat.

"I understand that this is a shocking proposal to you, but I think it's for the best. I won't deny that I worry about your future if I am gone. There are many who want you dead, Louise, and at this point you are no longer a Valliere. If I was to adopt you-"

"I am still a Valliere."

Napoleon stopped talking. Louise stood up from her chair and looked directly at him.

"I am still a Valliere, Napoleon. I was born a Valliere, I have lived as one, and I shall die as one."

"You are no longer a Valliere, Louise." Napoleon pointed out.

But Louise shook her head.

"It doesn't matter. In my heart, I still am one, regardless of what my mother says. I owe what I am to being born one, to being taught the right way to live. I love them all, even after everything. Cattleya, Eleanor, Mother, and Father, May Brimir rest his soul."

She shook her head, but then flashed a sardonic smile.

"Besides, don't you think you're getting a bit arrogant, Napoleon? I summoned you. You're my familiar. Sure, we're partners now, but that means _partners_. Equal. A daughter isn't equal to her father, you know!

So no, Napoleon. I know you're looking out for me. Or rather, I think you are. But I refuse. I will stay as I am – partners to you, and a Valliere in here."

She pointed a finger at her chest. Napoleon shrugged in response.

"Very well. But my offer is still on the table. If the point ever comes when you wish to take it, let me know.

Now, I am going to rest. We are going to have a busy few days, preparing to the journey to Guldenhorf's camp."


	45. The Devil: Chapter 5

"I have no choice but place myself at your mercy, my dear Marshal."

The Duke of Walloon, head of the 4th Tristanian family, a tall, muscular man with a well-trimmed black beard, threw up his hands in despair. While he was in a tent, not a speck of dirt rested on his lavishly red clothes. Across from him, Marshal Gramont sat in his wheelchair, a smile on his face from the joy of his final victory. At the table was the sign of Gramont's victory – the black king, cut off by a white knight and queen, with nowhere to run.

"There is no need for such dramatics, your grace." Robert de Gramont, the eldest son of the Gramont family, cut in. "It is only a chess game."

"Only a chess game?" The Duke laughed. "My dear boy, you know that no one's beaten your father in nearly ten years? Anyone who could outplay the Marshal would be quite the fearsome strategist, indeed. Perhaps you will someday outdo your father, Robert."

"I thank you for the praise, your grace, but such a thing is not possible. I have done the best to meet my father's expectations, but only meet. To surpass them? I am not there yet."

"Only because you push yourself too hard, my son." Marshal Gramont said. "A soldier should know how to relax and enjoy himself. It keeps the mind fresh, just like a long bath refreshes the body after a hard day at work. You could learn something from Vincent in that regard."

"You're telling me to learn to relax, and then you say I should learn it from my younger brother? Vincent is the last person who relaxes. He is always fighting, whether it's in duels, training for duels, or training for war. I must say that he is more intense than I am."

"He does it because it keeps him relaxed." The Marshal said. "I am not saying to be lazy, Robert. But you should indulge yourself from time to time. In between your religious commitments and your military drive, you will burn yourself out far too soon."

"Brimir will give him strength, Marshal." The Duke of Walloon cut in. "Robert's piety should be commended if anything. It shows his strong will and character. My son Leopold is similar. Your army and mine could use more men like him."

"Thank you, your grace." Robert said. "It is as Duke Walloon says, father. If you believe that Vincent's constant fighting can serve as a form of relaxation, then surely reading the holy texts can be another form?"

Duke Walloon and Robert chuckled at their small verbal victory, and the Marshal pouted in mock disappointment.

"Oh, enough." He threw up his hands. "I'll save this talk for later, but that game and this silly conversation have made me thirsty. Robert, bring me some water."

There was a decanter on a nearby table. Robert walked over and filled a glass, before he placed the drink right into his father's hand.

"Ah, thank you. I could use something a bit stronger, but I guess I will wait until after my supper. A good bottle of wine would help me – HACKKK!"

Gramont's words were cut off by a terrible fit of coughing. He doubled over on his wheelchair, emitting the most horrible noises. The Duke of Walloon leaped up.

"Marshal, what is the matter?"

But the general said nothing, his face growing red as a cherry. His face clearly alarmed, Robert hit his father on the back. One time. Two times. On the third blow, done with all of Robert's strength, Marshal Gramont gave a final wretch and a spurt of water splattered all over the chessboard.

"Cough, cough…Thank you son. It just went down the wrong hole, happens from time to time. I'm fine, I'm fine."

Marshal Gramont coughed for a little longer, each time more and more softly. Robert knelt down before him, his expression clearly concerned.

"Father." He said. "I hate to ask you again, but…"

"You want me to step down? Let you take control of the family?"

"No. Never. Not in a thousand years. But I am asking for command of the men just for the war. Are you sure you can-"

"This is my fight, son. I am the one who decided that the Gramonts would fight for Lady Valliere. I could have chosen to stay neutral like many of the other noble families like Touraine. I could have taken Guldenhorf's side. But I did not, and thus honor dictates that it is my responsibility to bear the burden. Not yours."

"But father, I've shown that I am capable. I can fight, I can lead your men to victory. To be perfectly blunt, father, you can no longer even ride a horse. You know that I am capable, so what is the problem?"

Marshal Gramont sighed and rubbed his head.

"Would you really like to know the truth, Robert?"

"Of course!"

"Very well, then." Gramont said. "The problem is that you love your brothers too much."

"What?" Robert cried. "What are you talking about? Of course I love my brothers. How could I not?"

"You know what I mean. Of course, you love Vincent, and Jean as well. But Robert, it was Guiche who you loved the most of all. It's Guiche who you were always worried about whenever you came home from fighting. And it's Guiche who's fighting for the Guldenhorfs – or rather, General Bonaparte"

"Are you saying that you do not trust me?!"

"If you still want me to be honest, son, I do not trust you completely." Marshal Gramont responded. "I do trust you a great deal – otherwise I would not even let you in this tent. But if you are to command my armies, Robert, I need to trust you completely. I'm sure that it will come. But not quite yet."

"I….understand." Robert said. "I understand, sir. But if not me, sir why not let Vincent command? Or Jean?"

"Don't be foolish. You know perfectly well why. Vincent is too hotblooded. He is a fine soldier, and perhaps when age has tempered the passions of youth he will make a good commander. But placing him in charge right now would be disastrous. He would fall for the first trap that the enemy would set, regardless of how obvious it would be. And Jean has never picked up a sword for any longer than he needs to.

No. In due time, Robert, you will succeed me to make a fine general. And that day will come soon. But not yet."

"Yes sir." Robert stood up. "But I will follow your orders to the end, Father. I promise in the next battle, to loyally obey your commands, do whatever you command of me, and defeat whoever you order me to. I swear it on my honor and in Brimir's name."

"In Brimir's name." The Duke of Walloon repeated. "That is good, Robert. So often these days the youth forget their loyalty to him. You have raised a good and pious son, General Gramont."

"Thank you, your grace." Robert said. "Father, would you please excuse me? I should like to go speak with Vincent and Jean for a moment."

Marshal Gramont nodded, and Robert left. Afterwards, the Duke of Walloon put a finger to his head, the numerous diamond rings on it dangling and clanking.

"How long will it take for Robert to gain your trust completely?"

"I plan to give him command of my forces after the upcoming battle." Marshal Gramont said. "The reality is…"

He picked up the white king from the chessboard and spun it in his hand.

"I just want one more match. Robert talks highly of General Bonaparte all the time, and it appears that he has left the city of Tristania to join up with Guldenhorf. If he is placed in command, I hope that he is as good as Robert claims – it has been a long time since anyone has threatened to break my 10 year streak."

"Are we speaking about war or chess here?" The Duke asked.

"Is there a difference? Because there really isn't." Marshal Gramont said. "Both war and chess are about maneuvering, about creating the best possible position from where to attack and force your opponent into a disadvantage. It's not so much about fighting, it's about being in a position to win even before the fighting has begun. That's what chess taught me, Walloon. It's how I defeated Germania at the Beuand River. And it's how I intend to win this war for Lady Valliere. Quick, clean, with a minimum of bloodshed. That is how war should be fought."

…

…

"Oh, move faster, will you, you lazy lump?"

A Gallian farmer on top of his cart grumbled as he kicked at his horse. The beast paid no heed whatsoever, hauling the farmer and his pickled vegetables along at his own pace, without a care in the world.

"Downright useless good for nothing, I ought to sell you for glue one of these days." He muttered. "Hey, are you all right back there?"

He shouted at a person who sat at the back of the cart, surrounded by the farmer's produce. He didn't know a whole lot about who he was carrying. He knew it was a girl from her voice from when she had asked him to take her along as he rode to the next town, offering a gold coin in exchange. But since then, she had kept her face hooded and had refused to speak a single word despite his attempts at conversation. Instead…

"Oh, we're just feeling right as rain, you hear me! I mean, sure we've been jostled around like sacks of cabbages and we're surrounded by these smelly vegetables and it's going to take forever to reach our destination and I don't know where we're going to stay tonight with the bandits around and-"

She had a sword. A talking sword. A talking sword _that just wouldn't shut up. _If the farmer had anything better to do, he would have given up trying to talk to the girl a long time ago, as every single one of his questions was met by the sword's incessant rambling. But well, if he couldn't talk to the girl…

"So, where did you learn to talk, sword? Did you have to learn it like children do, or have you always been able to do that?"

"My name is Derflinger!" The sword cried. "This is the third time I've told you that already, you country bumpkin! I am a great legendary sword, the least you could do is remember my name!"

"Really now? So just what makes you so legendary, Derflinger? Can you spit fire? Make your wielder fly? Heal any injury that your wielded gets? Or are you just legendary for that endless mouth of yours?"

"Oh, so you want to know what makes me so great? Well, I'll tell you! I was wielded a long time ago by-"

The sword's boasting was abruptly stopped by a slamming noise. From his seat in the front of the cart, the farmer couldn't tell just quite what had happened, but it sounded like the girl had slammed the sword back into its hilt.

"Guess even she got tired of him blabbering along like that," he muttered to himself. "Still, a talking sword? Must be some crazy new magic, because I've never seen anything that could make a sword talk. Maybe there's magic out there that can make you understand me, you stupid beast?"

He kicked at his horse again, but it shrugged off the blow. Oh well, the farmer grumbled. He would probably reach the next town in a few hours, let the girl off, and could attempt to sell his produce there. The crop had been pretty good this year, so it shouldn't be too much trouble. If he got lucky, he might be able to get enough to buy a new pan for his wife, and a bracelet for his daughter, and-

"Hey, farmer, you want to know what makes me legendary?"

The farmer's reverie was abruptly broken off by the sword's shouting. Shaking his head in irritation, he looked back as well as he could.

"Sure, go ahead!" The farmer yelled out. "You think of something clever to say?"

"No, not exactly." Derflinger said, his tone a bit colder. "It's just that in between those two trees you're about to pass, there's a magical rune there that will kill your horse."

"WHAT?!"

The farmer pulled up his cart sharply, and thankfully this time his horse listened to him. Guess it didn't mind following his orders when he wanted him to stop, huh?

"Hey, is this a bad joke?" He shouted back. "There's nothing there at all! If this is your way at getting back at me, you can start walking right now!"

"No joke."

This time, it was the girl who had spoken. She leapt down from the cart, a large wooden staff in one hand and Derflinger strapped to her side. The hood fell from her face as she jumped, and the farmer couldn't help but be surprised. She wore glasses, which was rare enough, but it was the blue hair that was really surprising. It wasn't entirely unheard of, but there were very few people outside the Gallian Royal Family who had that hair color.

The girl walked past the farmer's cart and went up the path for a bit. Then, she stopped right before the two trees that the sword had pointed out and knelt on the ground. The farmer heard her mutter something, and then saw a circle flash for a moment, before it disappeared. Had she just used magic? Then-

"You must be a noble." He said. "Terrible apologies, my lady. If I had known, I wouldn't have let you ride among those vegetables. If you don't mind-"

The girl ignored the farmer, but raised a finger up to her lips. He instantly shut up, as he realized what she was implying. Someone must have laid this trap for a reason. Were there bandits around?

BANG.

The sound of a gun firing was heard, and then the farmer felt something whizz just past his chest. Realizing the grave danger he was in, he jumped off the cart and hid behind it, away from whomever had just fired.

"Oh, good grief, Michael, how did you miss? He was right in front of you!"

A voice could be heard from the forest. So there was more than one of them, the farmer realized.

"Oh, like 'sorry' is just going to cut it. Come on, let's get out there."

Four men rushed out of the woods. Three of them carried swords, but the last one, a bearded redhead, was holding a wand. The girl stood between the three of them and the cart.

"Well, hello there, cutie." The mage leered. "What's a pretty girl like you doing on this cart? You must be the one who disarmed my trap then with that huge staff of yours."

He licked his lips, but the bandit's companions looked at each other nervously.

"So, Captain." One of them asked. "I guess you want us to leave you alone?"

"Of course, Michael. Most of the time I'm stuck fighting common mercenary scum, but this girl is special. It's been a long time since I dealt with another mage. You three, take the goods while I keep her busy-"

"Windy Icicle."

The girl suddenly cast a spell, and a spear of ice shot out of her wooden staff and towards "Captain." But it was blocked by a magic circle which appeared out of nowhere.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk." The other mage said. "Attacking without warning? That's not very ladylike of you. Luckily for me, you can't harm me with your attacks!"

As the farmer watched in horror through the cart wheels, the man's skin glowed a fierce red. It appeared that his skin was inscribed with runes which protected him. From the farmer's highly limited knowledge of magic, that was powerful magic. What was a man like him doing attacking his little vegetable cart? Had he not prayed to Brimir enough?

Captain waved his wand, and all of a sudden a pillar of earth erupted from the ground around the girl, seeking to imprison her inside a dome. But she slashed with her staff, and her ice magic destroyed the earth attack. She fired off yet another spear, but this time it just bounced off the man's skin without inflicting the slightest harm.

"Is that the best you can do?"

While the girl and the bandit traded magical spells, the other bandits rushed over to the cart and began to grab everything that they could carry. Fortunately for the farmer, they seemed to not notice him cowering on the other side of the cart.

"Hm, not bad. Your magic might be stronger than mine." Captain muttered. "But you've got no way of breaking down my runes, and in the meantime my men will take everything you own. And don't try attacking them, I'll protect them from any of your attacks."

The girl said nothing in response. But she moved the staff to her left hand and then drew her sword.

"What's this?" Her opponent grinned. "You're planning to attack me with that rusty piece of horse dung instead? Please. Do you think I'm not protected from blades?"

"Derflinger?" She said.

"With pleasure!" The sword cried out. It shone brightly, and a strange vortex seemed to emanate from it. The vortex latched onto the bandit, and as he watched in horror, it seemed to absorb his magic. His skin turned from that freakish red color to a more normal pink.

"What the – how in Brimir's name?"

The mage's hand shook as he sought to recast the runes, but by then it was too late. The girl rushed up to him and sliced the wand in two.

"H-hey, hold on!" The bandit cried. "You don't want to be too hasty, right? I mean, killing is a sin, you know? If you can just let me go, I promise not to steal again. Just don't – ARRRRGGGGHHHH!"

Without listening to his pleading, the girl stabbed the bandit in the belly. There was another slash, and the bandit fell to the ground, his life essence draining away.

"CAPTAIN!"

The other bandits cried out in horror at seeing their leader so effortlessly destroyed, but this time, the girl pointed her staff at them. None of them dared to move, dared to attack such a powerful mage.

"Drop your goods." The girl quietly said.

Almost as if they were holding kittens, the men set down the stolen vegetables. They turned back towards the girl, their eyes visibly pleading for their lives.

The girl's staff nudged in the direction of the woods, and the bandits got the hint. Without even sparing a last glance at their dying leader, they dashed off into the woods. The girl bent down and used the grass to wipe Derflinger clean.

"Ah, much better." He said. "You've gotten much better at handling me over the past few months, Tabitha. Now, where did that farmer get to?"

Slowly, steadily, the farmer came into view. He looked at Tabitha, then back to the now dead mage, and then back to her again.

"Your name is Tabitha?" He said. "You saved my life and my produce, and you are also a noble. Forgive me, my lady. I cannot hope to repay you in return for your kindness, but name anything from me, and I swear I'll do what I can."

Tabitha said nothing at first. She clambered back into the cart, and for a moment the farmer thought that she simply wanted him to just get going. But then she came back, this time holding a map. She unfolded it in front of the farmer, and pointed.

"Lutece?" The farmer asked. "The Gallian capital? You want to head there?"

The girl nodded. The farmer scratched his chin.

"You mind if I ask why you want to go there?"

This time, she just stared at him. The farmer sighed in response.

"That's quite a distance. I originally promised to just take you along until I arrived at the next village, and Lutece is four days from there, assuming the roads are good – and they never are. But I made a promise, and I don't intend to go back on my word.

Tell you what, my lady. I want to stop at the village and sell my produce. Once I do that, I'll take you over to Lutece. Do we have a bargain?"

He stuck a hand towards her. She hesitated a moment, but then Tabitha finally took it and shook it.

"All right then." The farmer said. "Well, let's get back on the road. This stupid horse isn't going to get going without another good kick, and at least now I know I won't need to worry about any bandits with you around."

…

…

The Grand Duke of Guldenhorf rested his hands together as he thought in his tent. He was bedecked in a splendid dark green robe, with the symbol of his family emblazoned on the back. A yellow sun, with a lightning bolt below it. When the Guldenhorfs were a small noble family a long time ago, the legend went, another nearby more powerful nobleman had conspired to seize their then small lands. The Guldenhorf had been forced to retreat to their castle, but on the very first day that the nobleman laid siege, he had been struck dead by lightning on a clear day. The nobleman's soldiers defected in mass upon seeing such a clear sign from Brimir that he favored the Guldenhorf family, and they had grown steadily more powerful each generation.

It's not like he needed a miracle like a lightning bolt right this moment. In fact, there was not that much to be concerned about. While it was true that the Vallieres were the first family, and thus normally the strongest of all, they had assisted in the invasion of Albion while Guldenhorf had stayed out, meaning that his soldiers had not been depleted unlike Karin. On top of that, while the Vallieres did hold far more territory, the Guldenhorfs were wealthy. Fabulously wealthy. Both Tristania and the port city of La Rochelle were far closer to Guldenhorf lands than they were to the Vallieres, meaning that his lands had boomed from trade, a nice cut which went directly to the Grand Duke's coffers. He wanted to do his best to keep Guldenhorf money as a reserve, but in due time, he could field quite a sizable mercenary army.

But still…

Guldenhorf looked at a map of the country. He had split his forces in two. The Grand Duke had a younger brother, and he was currently in the eastern part of Guldenhorf territory, keeping an eye on any Valliere movement with a smaller force. Wardes had sent Guldenhorf a message that he would be keeping the Lady Valliere distracted for some time, meaning that Guldenhorf did not need to worry too much, but one could never be too careful. While his brother was in the East, Guldenhorf had chosen to march south on both Gramont, Walloon, and the other families supporting the Vallieres. He was currently in the southwest part of Tristain – nearly a week's march from his own lands in the north and four days from Tristania to the northeast. But he had failed to move fast enough. The armies of Gramont and Walloon had linked together. Combined, they were in fact still slightly smaller than his own army. But with General Gramont…

Guldenhorf shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He really hadn't planned for that. Given the Marshall's age and infirmity, Guldenhorf had guessed that the Marshall would let his eldest son, Robert de Gramont, command the combined armies. Robert was certainly a capable soldier. He had a very solid record, especially in organizing the retreat at the Disaster at Saxe-Gotha where Her Majesty had died at the hands of the Albion forces. But it was only solid. It didn't inspire the fear and awe which Robert's father created in the hearts and minds of his friends and enemies alike. It was General Gramont, after all, who had been called to defend the realm when Germania had attacked over forty years ago. It was then that he had defeated, at the Battle of the Beuand River, a Germanian force over twenty times his size. Guldenhorf wouldn't deny that he was nervous about the prospect of facing him – it was the reason he had ordered General Bonaparte to come, after all. In case Guldenhorf lost, it would be important that his puppet be around to take the blame.

A guard rushed into the tent.

"My lord." He said, kneeling on one knee. "There is someone here to see you."

"General Bonaparte, is it?" Guldenhorf softly said. "About time. I sent for him nine days ago, and he only finally arrives. Bring him to my tent at once."

"Pardon, my lord?" The guard responded. "It is not General Bonaparte."

"What? Then who is it? And why should I pay attention to whoever he is?"

"She, my lord."

She? Guldenhorf could only think of one woman who would demand an audience from him. But Karin was away deal with Wardes. Even if her business had already concluded, there was no way she could make it all the way to western Tristain so quickly, and there was not another woman who would demand an audience besides-

Oh.

"You mean?" Guldenhorf sighed.

"Yes. She is here." The guard said.

Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit. What was she thinking? But there was nothing that Guldenhorf could do at this point.

"Very well. Tell Beatrice that she can come see me."

The guard nodded and left the tent. A short while later…

"FATHER!"

A young girl of 15 years old rushed into the tent. Her hair was also blond like her father, though it was done up in two large twintails. An escort of four armored knights, the sun and lightning of Guldenhorf on their chests, followed her.

"Leave us."

With a wave of his hand, the Grand Duke dismissed Beatrice's escort. She grinned and kissed him on the cheek

"Are you pleased to see me, Father?" She beamed. "It feels like forever since I last saw you."

"It hasn't been that long, Beatrice. We spoke right before the last conference, just before this war began. And you were supposed to go back to the Academy. So while I am always happy to see you, Beatrice, what do you think you're doing here? Why did you leave?"

"You sent me back before the war began, but that changed everything." Beatrice answered. "I wanted to see the war. I wanted to see the soldiers. I should get some experience with fighting, the way I see it, and who knows when I will get another chance."

"Beatrice." The Duke sighed. "War is not something you can visit like you're going on a picnic lunch. It's a bloody, serious business, and this war is particularly. The Guldenhorfs could become the greatest family in Tristania and could with some luck, rule Tristain for at least the next hundred years. Or we could lose it all. The stakes are far too high for you to go traipsing around."

"Well, if the stakes are so high, then I should be here." Beatrice said. "I am your heir, am I not, Father? If this war is so important to the family, why should I not watch and learn, if not take part myself?"

"You may be the heir, but you still need to learn more about the feminine arts, Beatrice. How to dance, to sing, to make polite conversation. You need to be more lady-like."

"Matilda can learn that." Beatrice shrugged. "My younger sister can learn those arts, while I run the family. That is, unless…"

She narrowed her eyes, and the Duke grumbled in response. He knew what she meant by that trailed off sentence. Even if she was complaining now, Beatrice did love her father, and her mother, and her younger sister, and would obey her father's wishes. But that didn't mean she loved everyone in the family.

"I have told you, Beatrice. I have told you a thousand times, and I will tell you a thousand times more. Yes, William was to be my heir. But he betrayed the Guldenhorf honor when he eloped with that commoner. I have utterly no intention of seeing him rule the family. None."

"If you were to forgive him…"

"Yes, he would become the heir, Beatrice. He is older than you, and he is a boy. But I will never legitimize him. I swear it on the Guldenhorf name, my own life, and the souls of my father and mother. Do you understand?"

Beatrice said nothing at first, but she finally nodded. She understood. For now. But it was always just a temporary thing. The next time she got told to act more ladylike, she would begin to suspect her father again.

_The minute I am gone,_ the Grand Duke thought, _she will almost certainly have him assassinated._ _Well, there is nothing I can do about that._ _Still, I guess she's right. If she is here, she might as well learn._

"Anyways," He continued. "I guess there's nothing for it. I will not send you back to the academy, Beatrice. You are free to roam around as you please and do what you will."

"Thank you, Father!" His daughter cried.

"But," Guldenhorf said, "I will expect you back here every day for supper. And I will ask you about what you have seen and learned. Every single day. Do you understand?"

Beatrice nodded. But at that very moment, the guard came in again.

"My lord, General Bonaparte has arrived."

"He has? Finally?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Well, send him in." Guldenhorf said as he reached for a wineglass.

"About that, my lord?"

"Yes?"

"General Bonaparte insists that you come see him."

Guldenhorf picked up the wineglass in both of his hands. He spun the top around in his left hand, in no mild surprise.

"He _insists,_ you say?"

"Yes, my lord."

"W-what impudence!" Beatrice sputtered. "How dare General Bonaparte make demands of my father?! Is he not just a commoner?"

"Stop, Beatrice." The Grand Duke cut in with a smile. "General Bonaparte insists? Well, it's a harmless enough request from someone who thinks he's more important than he really is. I have been sitting in this tent for too long, a little exercise on my horse wouldn't hurt. Do you know where he is?"

The guard nodded.

"Very well then." The Grand Duke stood up. "Take me to him. Beatrice, I would like you to come along."

"I would have come even if you hadn't wanted me to." Beatrice cackled. "Does the Zero always follow him around like a lap dog? It would be nice to meet a classmate after leaving the Academy."

…

…

Napoleon Bonaparte waited on his horse on top of a hill. Captain Stewart rode alongside him, alongside about 30 cavalrymen. Louise waited behind him, and behind him, his column of soldiers rested by the road. It had been a tough three days of marches, one which had pushed even Napoleon hard. But if he was going to get his men used to the tough, rapid, disciplined marches that he liked, he had better start now.

"Here he comes." Stewart observed. "Guldenhorf doesn't have much of a bodyguard escorting him."

Napoleon had camped about ten minutes away from Guldenhorf's camp, and the streaming of banners, namely the yellow sun and lightning, could be seen waving over the numerous tents. From there, seven horsemen rode towards Napoleon. As they rode closer, Napoleon could see the Duke of Guldenhorf, five armored knights, and then a girl around Louise's age. If the similar hair color was any indication, then she was likely the Duke of Guldenhorf's daughter.

"Louise." He asked. "Do you know that girl?"

Louise rode up and looked at the riding figures. She drew in her breath, and her eyes narrowed.

"Beatrice." She muttered. "That over-pompous prig."

Napoleon would have asked what she meant by that, but at that point, Guldenhorf and his escort reached the base of the hill. As he watched, they rode up the small hill next to Napoleon and arrived, though Napoleon still sat above them. Beatrice was alongside her father, and their bodyguards were behind them.

"General Bonaparte." The Duke of Guldenhorf said. "It is a pleasure that you have finally arrived. I am glad to see that you have the time to answer my summons. I was afraid you were too busy managing the drunks and thieves of Tristania, but there is a war to be fought."

"I was administering justice." Napoleon responded. "If it requires managing drunks and thieves, then so be it. Surely Brimir will not grant victory to the unjust."

"A wise statement. You clearly know Brimir well." Guldenhorf answered. "May I introduce you to my daughter, Beatrice? I should also like to show you my Luft Panzer Ritter, knights who are sworn to follow me to the death."

Guldenhorf raised a hand, and one of the knights dismounted. He pulled out his weapon, an oaken staff with a metal tip of sorts. It was peculiarly shaped, like a bent "E", with circles in places of where the points would be.

"I would advise you to close your eyes, General." Guldenhorf whispered.

Napoleon did not. He watched as the knight twirled his staff around his body, once, twice, thrice. Then he pointed it at a tree, and shouted a word which Bonaparte could not understand.

BZZAAAAAAP!

A lightning bolt shot from the knight's staff and turned the tree to a scorched ruin. Guldenhorf looked at Napoleon.

"Fairly impressive, is it not?"

"It suits your sign." Napoleon coolly said. "Tell me, do all of these knights possess that ability?"

"These men here do, who are sworn to protect me with their lives. But pardon me, General Bonaparte, where are my manners? You and your men must be tired. I believe I have a suitable location for your men to camp, right next to our men. There is a nearby stream and some trees to chop firewood."

"Sorry, Duke Guldenhorf." Captain Stewart cut in. "I believe we will want to find our own place. Not yours."

Guldenhorf wheeled his horse around towards Stewart.

"And who might you be? Certainly no noble, judging from your dress. At minimum, you should address me as 'my lord.'"

Stewart did not appear to be cowed in the slightest by Guldenhorf. Instead, he reached into a pouch, and pulled out some tobacco and a strip of paper.

"Captain Jacques Edouard Bernard Stewart at your service." He responded, rolling a cigarette all the while. "Your offer may be good and all, Duke Guldenhorf, but I want to see if there's anything better. Perhaps something a little farther away from your camp."

"A little farther away? What exactly are you implying?"

"I don't imply anything, Duke Guldenhorf, I speak straight. The fact is that I'm not willing to tru-"

"Stewart!" Napoleon declared. "That's enough!"

Stewart looked over at Napoleon, but Napoleon looked over at Guldenhorf.

"Pardon Captain Stewart. I would be willing to take up camp at your location, without a moment's delay."

"R-really?" Guldenhorf said. "Surely you would like to inspect the area first?"

"Why? I trust that you picked out a suitable area for my soldiers to rest in, have you not? We are allies against a common cause, my lord. It seems proper that we should work together."

"Y-yes…well, that is so…"

"Of course, it would be best for my men to receive some food after they set up camp. My men are tired and hungry, and we did not bring much food in my haste to join forces with you. Would that be fine, my lord?"

"Fine, sure." The Grand Duke snapped irritably. "It is good to see that you have arrived. Tomorrow, I should like to meet up with you. There are other noble families here, who will want your presence as we discuss how to defeat Gramont and Walloon. Count Kundera in particular will be pleased to see you again."

With a wave of his hand, Guldenhorf and his men turned around and rode back. Captain Stewart glared at Bonaparte, but the general just smiled.

He knew why Captain Stewart was upset. Guldenhorf had clearly offered him the spot to at best, keep an eye on him and at worst, to attack him. Stewart had foreseen that. He likely would have picked a spot further away from Guldenhorf to prevent that situation. But that was Stewart's weakness. He frequently failed to grasp the big picture.

Sure, Guldenhorf would be able to monitor Napoleon, but Napoleon would be able to monitor Guldenhorf as well. No doubt Guldenhorf thought himself to be oh so clever by putting Napoleon there, but the reality was that it wasn't a major concession for Napoleon. It would not necessarily be an optimal location despite whatever Guldenhorf had tried to claim; but as Napoleon had arrived here after Guldenhorf, no doubt the Grand Duke had already taken all the optimal locations. The Grand Duke's location was probably not great, but it was highly unlikely that it was someplace truly terrible, as he had to anticipate that Napoleon would demand to inspect the place first.

In addition to all that, by readily and easily agreeing to what Guldenhorf had proposed and without preconditions, Napoleon had taken the winds right out of Guldenhorf's sails. Guldenhorf, with his demonstration of his Luft Panzer Ritter, was clearly irritated by Napoleon's demand that he come meet him and had come anticipating a fight or an argument of sorts. When Napoleon refused to give him one, Guldenhorf didn't know what to do. He was so befuddled that he had readily agreed to give Napoleon needed supplies of food, something he would have never done if Napoleon had argued with him about the camp's location. Napoleon had given up little, and managed to secure needed supplies with a smile and a refusal to argue, which was far better than what Stewart would have done. He couldn't help but grin as he watched the six horsemen ride back down the hill.

Hold on a moment. Six? The knights were there, and so was the Duke. But where was his daughter?

"Hoooohh. It's been a while,_ Zero._ So what have you been doing these days?"

Beatrice had ridden up in front of Louise. The two girls glared daggers at one another.

"Nothing that matters to you, Beatrice. I'm surprised you would leave the Academy. Your groupies chose not to follow you out here to the battlefield?"

"My _friends, _Louise. No, they couldn't come. Fortunately, I got father's permission to come out here since I'm going to inherit everything he owns some day. Unlike a certain girl who got kicked out of her own family for being a failure."

"Well, if your father is the one who gave you permission, why don't you go crawl behind his back? Or did you not notice he left?"

"Bahahahahaha!" Beatrice laughed. "Oh, you have to be kidding me! _You, _Louise? _You_, of all people telling me to stop waving my father as a shield? Do I have to go over every single time in your past, every single class where you'd blow everything up and you would then go crying that we all couldn't laugh at you because you were a Valliere? There's an old saying about pots and kettles, you know!"

"Why you!" Louise grinded her teeth. "I challenge you to a duel!"

"And I decline. Why should I duel with someone who's no longer a noble? Instead, I'll be off. It was so good chatting with you again, Zero."

With another final laugh, Beatrice wheeled her horse around and rode back down the hill. Louise ground her teeth, but said nothing back. Napoleon rode up to her.

"Another one of your rivals at the Academy? I never heard or saw her when I was there."

"She was away a lot." Louise said. "Whenever her daddy wants her around, she leaves for some reason or another. And she's not my rival, Napoleon."

"Really? Seemed fairly heated to me."

"Kirche was my rival. Beatrice is my _enemy._ I wanted to surpass the former. I want to destroy the latter, that pompous, spoiled prig. She looks down on everyone, treats them like her servants, and has a bunch of "friends" who will do whatever nasty thing she wants them to do."

_Sounds like someone I used to know._ Napoleon thought. _Someone who made me try to dress her the first day she summoned me to this world. Well, except for the part about having friends._

Needless to say, Napoleon kept that thought to himself. But he couldn't help but think. If he hadn't been summoned, if someone else had, an ordinary person perhaps, would Louise have changed? And really, would she have been all that different from that arrogant blonde girl riding back to the camp?

He brushed off the thought. It was an idle and pointless speculation. There was no reason to waste his time thinking of what might have been – given that he had done in his life, he could spend several lifetimes wondering about that. He looked over at Captain Stewart, who was puffing away on his cigarette.

"Have the men set up camp at the location which Guldenhorf provided for us. I intend to take some time getting the lay of the land, as well as the nature of Guldenhorf's forces. Louise, I want you to come along with me."

Stewart saluted. The men began to march south towards Guldenhorf's camp. Napoleon however rode south-east, Louise following him.

"Where are we going?" She asked.

"The first rule of war is to know the terrain. I am sure that Guldenhorf have maps which he will give me tomorrow during the war council, but there is no substitute for personally looking at it. Gramont and Walloon are likely south-east of Guldenhorf's camp, so let's take a look at what we can find."

And with those words, Napoleon spurred his horse on faster, climbing up the mountains to analyze the likely future battlefield.

…

…

"AHHHHHHHHHHH!"

The young man struggled on his knees, vomiting blood all the while.

_W-where….am I? What happened? I….I was walking and….there was that thing and-_

"Argghhhh…ahhh..."

He screamed again and spat out more blood. It was bad. Very bad. He had been out on his free day. On the streets, having picked up the latest magazine in the middle of the day. And then it had turned dark. All of a sudden he had been swallowed by some unavoidable blackness which had grabbed him off the streets before he could even breathe.

It was still dark, but not as dark as that horrible blackness. But it was cold. Somehow, the man could tell, he was underground. But how was that possible? He had just been, not 30 seconds ago, wandering outside. It was a warm sunny day, he was enjoying himself and-

"BLECH"

His legs completely gave way, and he vomited more blood. He tried to raise his hand to cover his mouth, but his arm did not respond. It was almost as if it had been cut off.

No, he realized as he craned his head as little as he could move it, his arms were there. Both of them. They just refused to move as he lay there, bleeding uncontrollably from his mouth. And now that he realized it, a portion of his chest on the right side was missing as well. It was as if the blackness which had swallowed him had taken a bite out of him there, a bite which caused him to lie in a pool of his own blood.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

The young man heard a sound. Something…hitting the floor. A few moments later, he could feel someone's presence standing above him. Another man, it seemed. But drained and weak as he was, he could only tilt his head slightly, not enough to see anything else about him.

"Hmmmmm. Well, he is alive, at least, for now. So it is not a complete failure."

The person walked forward, and then the man felt a rod or perhaps a cane of some kind push him around onto his back. He groaned in pain from the impact. Even on his back, the other person was standing just outside his vision. He could see that he was wearing robes of some kind, but nothing more.

"You're missing a lung." He heard the voice speak. "Parts of your spine, perhaps. Definitely your stomach, that's why you're coughing up blood like that."

The boy tried to open his mouth, to ask so many questions. What had happened to him, where he was, who was speaking to him. But all he did was cough up another mouthful of blood. It spattered on the person's robes, but he did not react at all to that.

"A pity. Perhaps if Touraine was around, he could heal this, but this is well beyond my meager capacities. I shall have to try again at a later date, when I am not preoccupied with other matters."

He leaned forward and began to prod the boy again. The boy tried to protest and swat the cane away, but his arms still refused to move, and the blood leaking out of his mouth kept him from speaking. He finally gave up and let the stranger do as he pleased.

"Hm?"

There was brief flash of light on the boy's left hand. The person jumped down onto one knee and grasped it. Even though he couldn't see the person's face, the boy could feel how intensely he was staring at his left hand.

"It was only for a second…" he heard. "But it happened again, even though it should be impossible. There's already another who has those, but the signs, they're not without precedent. The man with the green hair, that other one with the golden-brown eyes…there's been a few people who have had that marking as well."

The person stood up and began muttering to himself. The boy slowly managed to turn his left wrist around and look at it. He could see nothing on it. But even so, the person above him continued to mumble.

"Blast it!" he finally grumbled. "There has to be a pattern behind it. Most of them are already dead when they arrive. But a few manage to live, though they end up dying soon. And then a few of those who manage to live have that mark. Why can they have it? Why is it always that mark when there is already another? And what is the secret I'm missing?"

The person turned around and began to limp off. The boy couldn't believe it. This person was clearly the reason why he was in this state, barely able to move and bleeding everywhere. Was he going to abandon him like this? To die? This couldn't happen, this couldn't happen to him, this couldn't happen to him!

"Help!"

It was a short yelp, all he could say before the inflow of blood once again prevented him from talking. But it had caught the person's attention. He looked back at him.

"Help, you say?"

He made no move to actually do so, but at the same time he did not turn away. The person just stood there for several moments more, before he finally spoke up.

"I cannot save your life, boy, if that is what you are asking for. Your injuries are too grievous. It would require a truly great Water mage to save your life, and even if there was one nearby, there is no way I would let anyone else in here anyways. It would not be in my best interests, especially given what's about to transpire."

_Water mage?_ The boy thought. _What are you talking about? Just get an ambulance! And call my mother, she needs to know-_

"But I can help you, boy. I can grant your death, and thus your life, meaning, a far better end than leaving you to bleed out your last moments in this world, not even knowing where you are. To die with purpose. It is something which so many people in this world have sought their entire lives and failed to achieve. Be honored."

_Tap tap. Tap tap. Tap._

He hit the floor with the rod he had been poking the man with. The sounds echoed to form a pattern in the room.

"Feed."

Nothing happened for a moment. Then the man heard a sound.

THUD

Of something…incredibly huge. It sounded like an elephant walking. Panicking, the boy turned his head towards the direction of the sound…

And didn't even have time to try to scream.

The last thing the boy saw was a streak of white as it dashed towards him.

The last thing the boy felt was its teeth sinking into the back of his neck.

Munch munch.

Crunch crunch.

Gobble gobble.

Gulp.


	46. The Devil: Chapter 6

"Another round here!"

The Charming Fairy Inn was as busy as ever. Jessica hurriedly but expertly wiped down the bar as a customer left. She turned her head back towards the kitchen.

"Can we get some more chicken out here?!"

The cook in the back yelled out something, but Jessica could not tell whether it was assent or dissent. She gave the bar a few more quick swipes, then filled a glass of ale and passed it to another older man at the bar. He was half-slumping from drink, but he raised his head and stared right at Jessica…though not at her face.

"Thank you, thank you." He slurred. "Hey, Jessica, why don't you meet me after the bar is closed for some, uh, private time? A pretty girl like you deserves someone who can treat you right, ya know?"

Jessica smiled in response, but she inwardly resisted the urge to slap him. Just another night, she reminded herself. Fortunately, her father Scarron wagged a finger at the man.

"Ah non non non! My darl-ing Jessica is too busy, mon ami! Too busy for an ugly man like you! Lalala!"

Scarron flexed his muscles and continued to admonish the man. He wasn't doing much other than keeping an eye on the customers around here, but Jessica really didn't mind that she and the other waitresses were doing most of the work tonight. Sometimes, she really had no idea how he had managed to keep the Charming Fairy Inn afloat before she had begun to manage things.

"You would know a thing about ugliness yourself, Scarron!" The man who had flirted with her shouted.

"Ugly? Me? Ah non, I am la plus magnificent belle in all of Tristain! Now, you, monsieur…"

Scarron and the man began to bicker about ugliness, beauty, and the mysteries of nature, but Jessica could see that it was all in good fun. Soon, the man drained his glass and ordered another, both for himself and Scarron. The master of the Charming Fairy Inn threw a muscular arm around the customer and the two laughed. Maybe that was his secret, Jessica mused. She knew how to manage…but her father knew how to get along with the customers better than she did.

The tinkling of the front door signaled the arrival of another customer, and Jessica looked over to see who it was. Her eyes widened as she saw who had entered.

"Goodness gracious!" She exclaimed. "Andre Giono! I haven't seen you in forever!"

The old, thin printer sat down at the bar, exactly where he had sit back when he was nothing than a failed drunkard. He smiled and looked over at Jessica.

"It's nice to see you as well, Jessica." He smiled. "I know you keep some spring water here, right?"

She understood and poured him a glass, her hands slightly shaking. He drained it in one gulp and nodded in satisfaction.

"Delicious." He said before he glanced down at her hands. "Come now, come now Jessica. There is no need to be nervous. Can a man not return to where he used to come in harder days?"

"No, I suppose he can." Jessica admitted. "Still, it is quite a surprise. You've done well for yourself these days, Andre."

"I'm interested in showing the truth, Jessica. Nothing more." Giono replied. "Still, I have done well, yes. But what about you? How has the war affected you these days? I'm sure getting grain and all that has been harder these days."

"We're good for now." Jessica said. "Meat's been more problematic. No one's killing their cows and chickens these days because they want to save them just in case. Still, we have good relations with a lot of farmers around here, so I don't see a problem."

She poured Giono another glass of spring water, but then there was a squeal. Over at the other side of the barn, Scarron had lifted two of his waitresses on each of his arms. He lifted one up in the air with one arm, then the other. The waitresses blushed and smiled, but the rest of them as well as the clientele laughed and applauded at the feat of strength. Giono joined in as well, his teeth flashing while he smiled.

"That's old Scarron for you." He observed. "I should come over here more often. It's good for a man to remember where he came from, after all."

"You weren't born in the Charming Fairy Inn." Jessica wryly observed. "But, Giono. Did you really come here to watch Scarron lift the waitresses and drink water?"

A twinkle shone in Giono's eye.

"Maybe I did. What is it to you?"

"Nothing much. But there's a man who came here this afternoon. He wore a hood over his head, paid for one of our rooms upstairs, and declared that we were not to disturb him for any reason. And now the most powerful man in Tristania shows up here? It's a bit of a coincidence, don't you think?"

"Me, the most powerful man in this city?" Giono said. "Tristania has a mayor now, Jessica."

"Oh, like he could order you around. But for that man upstairs to be so important that you come down in person? He must be someone big, eh?"

"Perhaps. But you never met him, so what does it matter to you?"

Giono reached into his pocket and placed a single coin on the bar. Jessica picked it up.

"Is this-"

"Solid, pure gold." Giono smiled. "So, you never met him?"

Jessica quickly tucked the coin away into her pocket. But before she could answer, the door to the Charming Fairy Inn was slammed open. The noise and the hustle of the bar shut down, and in the silence, five men walked in. They all wore dark blue uniforms with swords at their side.

"Excuse me." Jessica said. "We do not allow weapons here-"

"Are you Jessica? The daughter of the manager?" One of them interrupted.

"W-why yes I am. And who are you? You came in here, you should introduce yourself." Jessica shot back.

"Our names are unimportant." One of them said. "We are members of the Internal Security Army for Tristanian Safety. The ISATS, or perhaps the ISA if that is too long for you. We have reason to believe that an agent of the Valliere family has taken refuge in here."

"Well, I don't know what you're talking about." Jessica declared. "What I do know is that I don't care if you're Lady Valliere herself, I don't allow strangers with swords to just strut about as they please. So be gone, or I'll call the city watch on you."

"The city watch?" The man laughed. "I guess you haven't heard then? The city watch answers to us, girl. I have half a mind to arrest you where you are, but I'll be merciful just this once. But we will be conducting a search here for the agent right here and now."

"What?!"

"What's the matter? You have nothing to hide, do you not? So we'll be conducting a search right now. And if we do find the agent, girl, you better believe you won't get away with it. So do you know anyone mysterious at this bar tonight?"

Jessica's eyes shifted towards Giono. The printer shook his head. But before she could answer back to these strange blue-uniformed men, the drunkard who had flirted with her earlier lurched up to the group.

"You're being mean to Jessica here." He slurred. "I don't like people who are mean to Jessica."

The ISA man wrinkled his nose.

"And I don't like drunks." He said. "Now get out of my way, or else."

"Or else what?" The drunk said. "You gonna use that fancy swords of yours on me?"

"I will. Now for the last time, get out of my way or-"

He never finished his sentence. Without warning, the drunkard swung a fist at the man's face, taking him completely off guard. The agent dropped on one knee, but then…

"RAAAARRRGGGHH!"

With a roar, tackled the drunkard onto the ground. The other patrons stood up, but the other four ISA men drew their swords, and so everyone watched the two men brawl on the floor. The drunkard had the advantage of the brute strength of drunkenness, but the agent clearly knew a thing or two about fighting. Eventually, he got on top and began to wail away at his face.

"You blasted lousy drunkard. I swear, forget the Valliere spy, I'll drag you to the dungeons and let my comrades deal with you, you hear me, you miserable pathetic-"

He would have continued like this for a while longer, but then the agent felt someone's presence. Andre Giono stood in front of him, his eyes blazing.

"What do you think you're doing? Did Foucard send you here?"

"You are-" The man spluttered, rising to his feet.

"Yes. It's me. So, speak up. Did you come here on Owen Foucard's orders?"

"I-I'm under no obligation to answer that!"

"So you did." Giono said. "Well, tell you what. The Charming Fairy Inn is under my protection. So run back to Foucard, and tell him that he is to never send any of his men here again. Do you understand me?"

The ISA man stared back at Giono. Blood dripped from his knuckles, and there was little doubt that he could throw Giono on the ground like he had just done to the drunkard. But the old, thin printer stared right back, and finally the man nodded.

"Come on." He said to his comrades. "We'll be leaving. But we won't forget this, printer."

Without another word, the men stormed off. As soon as they left, the patrons swarmed to the drunkard. His face was bleeding heavily, and thus a few of the men lifted him up.

"We'll need to get him to a room, Scarron." One of them said. "I'm sure you're all right with that?"

"Mais of course! Please, please, this way. I shall tend to him with my _finest _medicines! Quelle brave homme!"

The men carried the drunkard through the inn and passed the bar. Jessica came up and looked at the drunkard, her expression filled with worry.

"Are you alright, sir?"

"I've felt better." The drunkard said. "But I would feel right as rain with a kiss from a pretty girl."

The men guffawed, and this time Jessica openly rolled her eyes. But after a moment, she bent down and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

"Well, this is the best day of my life!"

The men cheered, and the drunkard sang praises to Brimir as he was carried off. Jessica rolled her eyes once more before turning to Giono, who stared at the front door.

"You seemed to know them." Jessica said. "They called themselves the ISA."

"General Bonaparte placed one of his soldiers in command of keeping the peace before he left." Giono responded. "The problem with soldiers is that if you leave them alone long enough, they start thinking for themselves. Still, Foucard's being much more aggressive than I thought he would be."

He rubbed his chin for a moment, then turned to Jessica.

"Don't worry about them." He smiled. "You are under my protection now. Foucard knows better than to tangle with me – he got his job because of Bonaparte, and I'm Bonaparte's right-hand man. I can send Foucard right back to the gutter he came from with a word. Perhaps I should go ahead and teach him a lesson so he doesn't forget his place."

Jessica smiled back.

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it, Jessica, don't mention it. Now if our friend upstairs didn't scatter when he heard the commotion below, I think I'll go have a chat with him. Take care to leave us undisturbed."

…

…

A manticore landed outside a large house. Its rider, long pink hair flowing, stepped down and patted her familiar on the head. She wore an elegant purple dress, and while it had taken a beating from the journey through the air, it still looked as fine on her as the best silks.

"It has been a while." Karin Desiree de la Valliere, the head of the Valliere family and the mother of Louise, muttered to herself.

She looked over at the mansion. It was still large and well-built, but Karin's sharp eyes noted the signs of decay and ruin. A rusted hinge here, a missing roof panel there. The front door was not as polished as it could have been, but two banners, each black and silver, hung by it. The symbol of the Wardes family, a white snake devouring its tail, adorned them.

Karin looked over at her manticore, which nodded and took to the skies. When it had gone, she walked up to the front door of the house and knocked.

_~Creak~_

The doors opened, but no one was there who could have opened it. As Karin passed the threshold…

"Ugh."

A cold, clammy feeling came over her for a moment, but it was gone before she could even breathe. Karin knew what had happened. The estates of all noble families had some magical defenses that were in place to guard against unwanted intruders. Most did nothing more than alert the household head that there was an intruder, but Wardes had always been far more paranoid. If Karin hadn't been invited, no doubt that feeling would have morphed into a magical attack of some kind.

"Your estate is as gloomy as ever, Wardes."

No one answered, nor did Karin expect one. But she knew that here in his home, the old man was listening. Karin knew the layout of the mansion from when she had been here in the past to discuss marriage between Louise and Wardes's son, so she headed to the sitting room. Just like the rest of the mansion, there was no one there. There were several couches and chairs in the room, and Karin sat herself down in one, waiting for someone to come by.

Karin was good at waiting, but that didn't mean she liked it. But even though she was the soon to be crowned Queen of Tristania, she knew that Wardes would likely keep her waiting for some time. Not because he was busy. If the state of his mansion was any indication, Wardes barely bothered these days to deal with running such mundane matters, and had probably placed them in the hands of some incapable subordinate if anyone at all. No, he was just doing it to annoy her because he could. It was just like him, Karin thought. Wardes always resented how the Vallieres had risen over the generations. They were currently the 5th family of Tristain – but they had once been the 2nd, and honestly they kept the title of 5th out as much of inertia as anything else. There were lesser families which could summon larger armies than Wardes could. But on the other hand, only Wardes was capable of well, _that._

Karin closed her eyes and put her hands together, thinking about the situation. She had left the mobilization of the Valliere forces in the hands of Cattleya and Eleanor while she left to handle Wardes. But Eleanor had been badly injured at the hands of the maid whom had killed her husband, and Cattleya was always ill. If Louise had not forsaken her duty and abandoned Princess Henrietta, who knows, Karin thought, she may have been the one who would have had to do her duty and mobilize the forces. But if Louise had done her duty in the first place, then Princess Henrietta would still be alive, and so much would have changed.

Still, she knew that she had the advantage. The Valliere house was the strongest house, and they were backed by Gramont, Walloon, and the majority of the families. If they could bring their strength together…

_Creak._

Karin did not open her eyes even as she heard the sound of approaching footsteps. But it was strange, she thought. Her extremely keen senses meant that Karin could tell that a woman was coming. Perhaps Wardes did have a few servants in this gloomy house after all? Certainly he could tell them to do a better job at dusting this place.

The footsteps crossed the threshold of the sitting room, and Karin turned around.

"Is Lord Wardes here-"

Karin's breath caught in her throat. Standing in the doorway, her face scarred and her eyes blank, stood…

"**YOU**_."_

Karin stood up from her chair, her killing aura completely loose, and pulled out her wand. Siesta stood right in front of her. The maid who had killed her husband, wounded her eldest daughter, and burned down the Valliere library, filled with precious archives. A white rat – Wardes's familiar, Karin realized – sat on her shoulder.

"**How dare you show your face before me? Did Wardes send you as some kind of sick joke? Or is this a peace offering, an attempt to reconcile as he knows that the Alliance is doomed? What is the meaning of this, Wardes? ANSWER ME!**"

Karin shouted out those last words. Even if Wardes wasn't physically present, there's no doubt that he could hear every word that she just said. No doubt that slimy voice of his would soon be ringing from the walls…

"Ga ha ha. Come now, come now, Your Highness. Is this not quite rude to shout at someone who has invited you to his home? Especially when he is right next to you?"

"What the-"

Karin's eyes widened. The voice had come not from the walls like she had expected. Wardes himself had not appeared out of nowhere like he had done at the Valliere estate. Instead, the 5th lord's voice…

Came directly from Siesta herself. The maid – or rather, the lord – spun around for a bit and curtsied before Karin.

"Welcome to my humble adobe." Wardes's voice spoke from Siesta's body. "I am pleased to meet you, Lady Valliere. There is much to discuss between our two houses."

"To discuss? Oh yes, there is plenty to discuss. What is the meaning of this, Wardes?" Karin snarled. "You took her body over? It is one thing to dispense justice to this foul murderess, but this? It is not just against the laws of Tristain, it violates what Brimir has taught us!"

"Violates what Brimir taught us?" Wardes said. "Did Brimir teach us to waste our potential? The girl has knowledge. Ridiculous amounts of it. Why should I not make use of it, while also punishing her for the crimes which she has committed against your family? I am no monster, Your Highness – even though I would not have needed it, I explicitly asked and received this girl's consent before I took over."

"I'm sure you did." Lady Valliere's voice dripped with sarcasm. "When has your conscience ever been perturbed by your experiments? And when did an earth mage learn how to take bodies over? Have you always been able to do this, Wardes?"

"In a manner of speaking. This is just a refinement of old techniques."

"Is that so?" Karin said. "Well, if it's just a refinement of old techniques, then surely you won't mind if I just destroy you here and now? You can just do it again, after all."

Karin's wand glowed, but Wardes made no effort to defend himself.

"Are you sure you want to do that, Your Highness? To attack someone who has invited you into his home?"

"Why not? It's not like you'll die." Karin stated. "It'll just be like when I destroyed your body when you invited me here. You'll just create a new body, like you always do. One which doesn't use her."

"Ah, but that is not so, Your Highness." Wardes said. "This spell may be a refinement of old techniques, but it is the first time I have used it. If you destroy Siesta's body, Your Highness, I _will_ die."

"You're lying."

"Perhaps." Wardes shrugged. "And even if I am telling the truth, Your Highness, what is to stop you from killing me here and now? Guldenhorf knows that you are meeting with me, but no one would believe him if he accused you of murdering me to begin with, and I doubt you told anyone but your daughters. Of course, you would be killing someone who has invited you into his home, but if you want to…"

Wardes raised his arms to show how defenseless he was.

"I would say that I do have something of great value for you, Your Highness. I did not just call you here to distract you. But it is your decision.

Karin considered her options. Siesta deserved to die for her crimes. Killing her would be justice. So would punishing Wardes for taking over her body and enslaving her mind. But if Wardes was telling the truth, then Karin would have killed someone who had invited her as a guest. It would be a great and terrible sin. And on top of that…

She thought back to the cold, clammy feeling that she had received when she passed the threshold. Wardes's magical defenses were currently inactive because she was a guest; but they would activate if she attacked him. And while Karin would normally be confident in her ability to handle such magical attacks, Wardes had known of her arrival. If he had orientated them purely to fight against her…

The magical energies at the tip of her wand dissipated, and Karin sat back down on the chair. Wardes took another seat, and put his (her?) hands together.

"Be cautious, Wardes. I may not move against you at this precise moment, but my patience is not unlimited. So, start talking."

"As Your Highness commands." Wardes smiled. "But I also have something of importance to show you. Which would you prefer to deal with, Your Highness? What I can tell you, or what I can show you?"

"Talk."

"Very well. But first a question from me: have you heard from Duke Walloon lately?"

"I have not." Karin said. "I had hardly returned to my estate before you contacted me. If Walloon has sent me anything, then my daughters will have received it."

"Then you should know that Pope Vittorio is highly interested in this war. As well as Joseph. I have reason to believe that the former has dispatched his top aide, Julio Chesare, to Tristain. As for Joseph-"

"I knew that already." Karin cut off. "Or rather, it's patently obvious. Do you think I am so foolish as to not know that a civil war will attract outside vultures, especially a country as small as Tristain? You and Guldenhorf certainly do not seem to know that."

"Say what you will, Your Highness, but that is not the truly important thing about them. It concerns your daughter, from a certain perspective."

"Cattleya? Eleanor?"

"No." Wardes sighed. "No, Louise. You of course know that she is a Void mage?"

"I've known for a while. General De Poitiers was the first to tell me. What about it?"

"What do you know about the Void, Your Highness?"

"Get to the point, Wardes." Karin brusquely said. "What is it you want to say?"

"Very well. As you know, Void is the legendary magic used by Brimir 6000 years ago. There have been no users between Brimir and Louise, is that not what you believe?"

"Are you saying that there are more?"

"There are four Void item, and four Void rings. Before the chaos created by the Albion war and the death of Princess Henrietta, the four nations of Tristain, Gallia, Romalia, and Albion all held one. Similarily, my research has led me to conclude that there are four Void mages. Not one."

"Four then? Are you saying that you know who they are?"

"I know who one of them is." Wardes said. "The Pope is one. I've seen it myself."

Karin looked long and hard at Wardes, searching his face up and down.

"I'm surprised your rats managed to get that far into the Pope's headquarters."

Wardes grinned at those words. It was almost like the grin of his old body had been transplanted onto Siesta, Karin thought. The white rat on his shoulders stood on her hind legs and let out a shrill squeal.

*rustle rustle rustle*

*scatter scatter scatter*

*cheep cheep cheep*

The sound of squeaking, living things began to reverberate throughout the room. Then seemingly out of nowhere, rats emerged into the sitting room. Dozens and dozens of the creatures gathered around Wardes, though not one of them dared to come close to the chair which Karin sat on. Wardes turned and looked at the white rat perched on her shoulder.

"What can I say?" He said, stroking Lady's chin. "My familiar is the queen of all rats. There are very few places where they cannot go. They used to be unable to head to the Academy, for example, with Osmond's familiar guarding the castle, but with his dismissal…well, I have no reason to send them there anyways. But yes, Pope Vittorio is a Void mage. And he's up to something big with it."

"What?"

"I don't actually know. My rats didn't survive very long there in the end. But I'm sure he'll be contacting Duke Walloon any day now, given the close ties between him and the Church. So be wary of both of them."

"And what about Joseph?" Karin asked. "Do you expect me to handle him as well while you and Guldenhorf continue this civil war?"

For the first time in this conversation, Wardes frowned.

"No." He responded. "Joseph is _mine._ I will handle him. Alone. I do not want, nor do I need your help."

Karin raised an eyebrow.

"You are the weakest of the Great Families, Wardes. Yet you are saying that you can deal with King Joseph Gaul, who practically holds more strength that all of the Tristanian nobility combined? Is that what you are claiming?"

"I am not interested in your input on this matter." Wardes coolly said. "I have told you all I wish to tell you. But there is something I wish to show you, Lady Valliere. Something important which has come from my laboratory. Would you please follow me?"

Wardes got up off the chair and walked past Karin. But then Karin's arm reached and seized one of his arms.

"You dragged me all the way out here to talk, Wardes." Karin said. "So I am going to ask you a question, and you are going to answer truthfully. What is your goal?"

"Whatever are you talking about? To prevent you from taking the throne, of course."

Karin's hand pressed even deeper into the thin arm.

"Don't lie. You've been planning something for a longtime, well before Her Majesty died. You've let your estate fall into disrepair. You have practically no servants here, you've possessed that maid, and now you experiment in that laboratory of yours for weeks upon weeks. No doubt whatever is in there is the result of some twisted experiment. So answer me, Wardes. What are you pursuing?"

A thin bruise appeared on the arm, so tight was Karin's grip. But Wardes seemed to take no issue with it.

"Let me ask you a question, Your Highness." He said. "Why are we nobles?"

"What sort of question is that? We are nobles because Brimir has given us the gift of magic, which is an indication of our right to rule. In addition-"

"There is no 'in addition', Karin. We are nobles because we have magic. That is all there is to it. Not because of our estates. Not because of our wealth, or our lineage, or because we are somehow more virtuous than the commoners. We rule because of magic and that alone. If somehow, all the nobles were to lose our magic, the commoners would have us all killed within a week."

"So what?" Karin asked. "Your experiments are to strengthen your magic so you can rule without virtue? With the brute force of our wands?"

"We rule with the brute force of our wands anyways, Your Highness." Wardes laughed. "But no, that is not what I am saying. What I am saying is in fact the opposite – a truly noble house does not concern himself with a fine estate, or wealth, or prestige. If we are nobles because of magic, the truly noble thing is to expand our magic to the utmost capabilities. Not because of wealth, or to defeat our enemies, or because it would enable us to rule. Magic should be studied for magic's sake. It is for that reason I intend to use Siesta's knowledge. Nothing more, nothing less."

"So then tell me, Wardes. If what you're saying is true, and you're studying magic for magic's sake and care nothing about power…then why are you helping Guldenhorf?"

Wardes smiled.

"I refuse to answer that question. You cannot surely expect me to reveal all the cards in my hand, Your Highness. Now, would you kindly release me?"

"No."

"Pardon?"

"You heard me." Karin said. "You're telling me what I want to hear, Wardes – or rather, what you want me to hear. I don't know to what end, so I want the straight truth. If your goal is really to study magic for the sake of magic, that would be one thing. But working with Guldenhorf and triggering a civil war doesn't fall in line with that. So answer me, Wardes. Or else we will see how good your magical defenses are."

Wardes stopped smiling. This time, the two of them stared daggers at each other. Nothing happened for several, long moments, until…

"Squeak!"

YANK  
>Lady gave a sharp squeal. Karin glanced at the rat for one second, and that was enough. Wardes ripped the arm out of Karin's grip, and jumped like he never could have with his old body. Leaping past the chair he had been sitting on, he kicked it towards Karin, who drew her sword-wand<p>

SLASH.

No spell was uttered. Karin's sword-wand struck twice, and the chair fell into three pieces. But Wardes had already retreated to the far side of the room. Rats swarmed all over his extended arms and the floor, and he hissed a single word.

"_Feed."_

An army of rats charged, and Karin's wand glowed with magical power. She was far stronger than Wardes; but Wardes knew that. So what was his plan to beat her, here in his home? If she was careless and didn't figure out what his strategy was…

…

…

A little under a dozen assembled noblemen sat alongside a great table in the Duke of Guldenhorf's tent. Count Kundera. Count Noyon. The Count of Burgundy, The Duke of Richemont, and others. At one end of the table sat Guldenhorf, his daughter Beatrice besides him. On the other end, General Napoleon Bonaparte sat, his arms crossed over his chest.

Bonaparte grumbled slightly to himself. Guldenhorf had his daughter alongside him so that she could learn about the war, but Louise was not with him. Matilda had not ridden alongside Napoleon's soldiers, but had instead stayed behind in Tristania for a short moment to take care of Tiffania and ensure she would be fine. But she had finally arrived not an hour ago, and had promptly dragged her master Louise off to train her, both in magic as well as in knife fighting. She could have waited, Napoleon thought.

"So, you are saying that Walloon and Gramont have managed to link up?" Count Noyon asked.

"Yes." Guldenhorf said.

"It is nothing to worry about." Count Kundera piped up with his thick accent "We still outnumber Walloon, Gramont…3 to 2, yes? So we have advantage."

"We have around 30,000 men here, and our best guess is that Gramont and Walloon have a little under 20,000." Duke Richemont responded.

"What about ships?" Count Burgundy asked.

Guldenhorf smirked.

"It went better than even I had expected." He said. "The Royal Navy is stationed at La Rochelle. La Rochelle is in Guldenhorf territory. I managed to bag nearly all of them. Combine that with the ships I own, and the result is that Vallieres just have the ships they own, the few that managed to escape my attack on La Rochelle, as well as the ships that Gramont owns. Tristain had 90 ships at the start of this war. We have 56."

"Hold on a moment." Count Marmont said. "Guldenhorf, if you have 56 ships, where are they? I've seen some ships floating around the camp, but not nearly that many."

Guldenhorf's grin faded a bit.

"Most of them are in the east. With my brother."

No one said anything for a moment. Noyon's mouth slightly dropped open, Burgundy gaped, and Napoleon put his face in his hands. Finally, Richemont quietly spoke up.

"What?"

"I didn't have a choice!" Guldenhorf threw up his hands. "My brother is guarding the east against the Vallieres, but he only has a little over 5,000 men! Wardes may be able to help him there, but even then, Karin will utterly destroy him! Besides, we still have 15 ships! Gramont doesn't have more than 10, and Walloon doesn't have any. We still have the advantage!"

"Oh _really_, Duke Guldenhorf." Burgundy rolled his eyes. "Did you forget that Marshal Gramont defeated a Germanian army 20 times his size? And he had no ships at all? You're willing to face him when you just outnumber him 30,000 to 20,000?"

"Well, what are you saying?" Guldenhorf cried out. "Should we just wait until the day comes when he outnumber Gramont 25 times over and hope for the best? We should attack now. Time is on their side – Gramont and Walloon may have linked up, but he still hasn't gotten most of the other pro-Valliere nobles to join up with him. If Count Grandple alone arrives, Gramont will nearly have as men as we do."

"Who in Brimir's name even gave you the right to send all those ships to join your brother?" Duke Richemont said. "Sometimes, Guldenhorf, you seem to forget that we're not fighting against Valliere domination just so you can dominate us instead. What, you want to lead the attack, beat Gramont, and seize all the glory for yourself?"

"Who else is to lead us?" Guldenhorf shouted. "We need unified leadership, we can't have every noble commanding only his own men. Walloon no doubt has placed all of his men under the command of Marshal Gramont, it stands to reason that we need to do the same! And over half of the soldiers here are under my command! Therefore-"

"Therefore what?" Count Kundera shot back. "You think you can fight Gramont alone? Then go do it! You need our help as much we need yours. Not to mention, Guldenhorf, what experience do you have with war?"

"W-what? I served in the war against Germania!"

"You were stationed at the Gallian border then, Guldenhorf." Burgundy sighed. "Or what? Did King Robespierre launch a secret attack that none of us knows about? I fought at the Battle of the Beuand River!"

"And I fought at Albion." Bonaparte suddenly said. "I helped save what forces we had and rallied them after General De Poitiers bungled the defense at Saxe-Gotha. I occupied the city of Tristania. I can lead the Alliance to victory over Gramont."

The nobles looked over at Napoleon in some mild surprise. After a moment, Count Kundera rubbed his chin.

"General Bonaparte IZ head of alliance," he observed. "And he does have a point. Maybe…."

"Hold on a second!"

Beatrice von Guldenhorf had not spoken a word since the conference began, but then she raised her hand, almost like she was back in the classroom.

"General Bonaparte, was it? Have we met before?"

_Oh, darn it._

"We met when my soldiers arrived at the camp." Bonaparte deflected.

"No, not that." Beatrice shook her hand. "I've seen you before. With Louise. But then the only time I've ever seen Louise is…"

Her eyes lit up, and she burst into laughter.

"Hold on a second!" She giggled. "You're the Zero's familiar! That's where we've met before! Father, I can't believe this. I was shocked when you told me that the head of the Alliance was a landless commoner, but a familiar?!"

All of the nobles slowly stared at Bonaparte. Finally, Guldenhorf spoke.

"Is my daughter telling the truth?"

"Louise summoned me, if that's what you're asking." Napoleon smiled. "I've never denied it. And besides, I'm not sure how it matters."

"How it matters?" The Count of Burgundy cried out. "General Bonaparte, I've never liked making a commoner the head of our great Alliance! True, you are capable, but it was an affront to my dignity! But for a familiar to lead us? And for a familiar to lead the fight against Marshal Gramont and to seize the honor that would come with beating him? It's utterly insan-"

Count Kundera suddenly seized Burgundy's shoulder, who turned in surprise.

"What are you doing, Count Kundera? I have not finished-"

"Quiet."

There was an edge to Kundera's voice, and his accent had vanished for that one word. Slowly, looking incredibly unsure, Burgundy sat down and Kundera cleared his throat.

"What Count Burgundy says is true." He continued. "If someone were to fight Marshal Gramont, and beat him, it would give him great prestige. So much so, that he could possibly dominate our Alliance…unless there were contributing factors."

The eyes of practically every noble in the room lit up, and many of them ahhed and mmhed. Only both Guldenhorfs looked nonplussed by what Kundera had said, who turned back to Napoleon.

"General Napoleon." He said. "I would be willing to place my troops in your disposal for the coming campaign."

"As would I." Said Count Noyon.

"And I." Said other.

"H-hold on a moment!" Guldenhorf spluttered. "General Bonaparte's been deceiving us the entire time! And now you want to hand control of our armies to him? Is this a joke?"

"He never deceived us." Duke Richemont said. "And besides, Guldenhorf, if you don't want General Bonaparte commanding, who will? We need unified leadership. I own the second largest army aside from you, so will you consent to let me take command of your soldiers?"

Guldenhorf opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. Instead, he closed it, and then stared at Richemont with a mixture of contempt and irritation. The Duke turned towards Napoleon

"General Bonaparte." He said. "I accept. My soldiers will be at your disposal in the campaign against Gramont. I believe every noble here in the room has no problem with this?"

"I do!" Beatrice cried. "It's disgraceful! You can't let a familiar lead you all, where is your sense of honor, you-

"Beatrice, QUIET."

The Duke's voice boomed, and her eyes wide in fear, Beatrice instantly shut up. Guldenhorf ground his teeth, but then forced himself into a smile.

"Very well." He muttered. "General Bonaparte, my men will be at your disposal. For now. You better not screw this up."

"My thanks, Duke Guldenhorf." Napoleon smiled. "And the same to the rest of you. I will not forget this opportunity you have given for me to prove my value to the Alliance."

Yet while Napoleon outwardly smiled and then went to personally think each and every one of the nobles, he inwardly seethed.

_You pathetic ingrates. The Alliance is bound together by mistrust and hatred toward the Vallieres, but you nobles barely trust each other more. It's as Kundera implied – if any one of you actually defeated the legendary Marshal Gramont, then more likely than not that one noble would start to dominate the Alliance. The fact that I'm a familiar means nothing to you in the name of keeping things equal – in fact it's all the better, because who could envision A FAMILIAR dominating the Alliance._

_Let the familiar take the job. If he wins, we'll split the glory. If he loses, then we'll put the blame solely on him. Such a win-win situation for you guys, eh?_

_Well, guess what, Kundera, Guldenhorf, Burgundy, the rest of you. You're all about to find out that there is nothing in this world that is as mercurial and unpredictable as the fortunes of war._

…

…

"HAH!"

A young, blonde-haired man danced and leaped on a grassy field. Six soldiers, wearing yellow and brown uniforms, hacked and slashed at the blonde with greatswords. Their movements were strangely peculiar, almost as if they were mechanical creatures. The blonde was armed with nothing more than a rapier. He could not parry the weapon strikes with his own blade, so he jumped around, almost like a cat, dodging the attacks one by one.

"Whoa!"

One strike came a little too close, and the man felt the wind being brushed right past his nose.

"That was a bit too close." He laughed. "Father would be disappointed in me. Now, hah!"

He ducked another sword strike from a soldier in front of him, but now his enemy was wide open. He made a quick stab with his rapier. One blow, right where the heart would be.

However, the soldier did not bleed from his wound. He looked down at the blow, for a long, slow moment…and then crumbled into dust. The blonde laughed.

"One down, five to go! OORAH!"

He continued to dance and clash with the soldiers, slowly picking them off one by one, each with one stab to the heart. Five left, then four, then three, then two. Finally, there was just one opponent left. He dodged a slash from the soldier and prepared for the killing blow.

"Vincent!"

However, the blonde heard his name called. He turned his head back for a split second to see another blonde-haired man pushing a wheelchair. It gave his opponent enough time to recover and-

"Whoa!"

Vincent jumped back and did a few backflips to dodge the incoming blow. Several paces away from the soldier, he stowed his rapier away and pulled out his wand.

"_Fini."_

The soldier stopped right where it was. Eventually, its human façade fell away, and it turned gray, right back into the steel golem that it was, before crumbling into dust just like his comrades. Vincent de Gramont, the second son of the Gramont family, put up his wand and dashed over to his father and brother.

"You got distracted there, Vincent." Marshal Gramont laughed. "I thought you were better than that."

"My apologies, Father." Vincent said. "But you must admit that I recovered in time, right?"

"Yes, against one of your steel golems. Against a truly skilled opponent, that second you wasted to look at me would have cost you your head. You must remember that the battlefield takes highest priority when you are there."

"Of course, Father." Vincent bowed. "Shall I restart the training program again?"

"Forget it, Vincent." Robert said. "We have important business to discuss. We'll need to get Jean here as soon as possible."

"Jean?" Vincent asked. "Where is he, anyhow? I haven't seen him today."

Robert looked up at the sky. A single large ship floated in the sky. Vincent looked up at the ship, and then his eyes widened.

"You mean, he's in the _Honor_? The Gramont flagship? Father, you intend for Jean to command the fleet?"

"Is there something wrong, Vincent?" Marshal Gramont asked.

"Well, nothing wrong with Jean commanding. But the flagship is where the commander is supposed to be. You should be commanding our armies atop the _Honor_."

The old marshal grimaced.

"Vincent, you know how much I hate flying. And on top of that, the heavy winds up that high means that a ship will always be rolling back and forth. Do you think it's wise to put your crippled father up there? One strong gust, and I'll be lying on the deck.

So no, I intend to stay and command our soldiers on the ground. I want Robert by my side to help, you want to be fighting on the frontlines, Walloon wants to stay out of the fighting completely aside from providing men and money given his total lack of military experience, and I'm not letting one of the other minor houses here take command of the Gramont flagship. So, Jean it is."

"So Walloon intends to sit this out? What about Leopold, his son? I haven't seen him at all."

"Leopold is apparently away on a mission of some sorts to Romalia." Robert said. "He won't be taking part in this fight. This army may be a mixture of Gramont, Walloon, and a few other noble families, but it'll be up to our family to lead them to victory."

"Of course, brother." Vincent said. "At any rate, is it time for the campaign to begin?"

"You should not be so eager, Vincent." Marshal Gramont sighed. "I know you want to fight, but as I have told you over and over again, the highest victory is one which is obtained without shedding blood. If things go as I hope, there won't need to be anyone killed."

"Not even on Guldenhorf's side?" Vincent asked.

"They're Tristanians, too." The Marshal replied. "Tristania is a small country, with Germania and Gallia right next to ours. We can't go wantonly shedding blood, even Guldenhorf's blood, without attracting attention from them."

He looked over at the field, where Vincent had been training with his golems.

"The Gramonts have always been earth mages, with a specialty in automatons and creation. Golems, Valkyries, creatures of metal and stone which can fight for us to a limited degree. That does not mean we are cowards. We value honor just as much as the Vallieres do, perhaps even more. Yet while Her Majesty may have her Rule of Steel, Gramont honor is tempered with kindness. Perhaps someday, in the far future, there may be peace in Helgekinia. But until then, it is our duty to serve Her Majesty and Tristain."

The old man's eyes had a dreamy quality, as if they were looking somewhere far away for a moment. But they refocused, and he looked at Vincent.

"Go. Get Jean. Guldenhorf's forces may outnumber us, but they're either going to be led by Guldenhorf himself or General Bonaparte. The former won't outwit me. As for the latter…"

He looked over at Robert.

"If General Bonaparte is leading, let's see if he's as good of a strategist as you seem to believe he is. It's time to prepare."


	47. The Devil: Chapter 7

"_In war the simplest maneuvers are the best"_

Napoleon Bonaparte

...

…

"They're over there, huh…" Guiche de Gramont muttered.

The youngest son of the Gramont family sat on top of a hill. Far into the distance to the south, he could see the Gramont-Walloon camp. While he could barely see the tents and banners from so far away, there was something he could easily see: the Gramont ships floating above the camp, notably their flagship _Honor_. Its sister ship, the _Duty_, was right next to it. On one of the largest sails of both ships, Guiche could see a brown sword pointing down painted on top. It was the sign of his family.

Honor and Duty. That was the Gramont motto, their way. To prize their honor above all else. After what had happened on that terrible night in the Academy, back when he had been imprisoned and nearly suffocated by the evil thief Fouquet, he had reevaluated himself, and what it meant to be a Gramont. He had recommitted himself to honor, to be a great man like his brothers…

Only to be exiled, to suffer the greatest dishonor of all, for something he had done in the name of reaffirming said honor. He did not regret his actions. He did not blame anyone for what had happened, whether it was his father, General Bonaparte, or perhaps the bickering Vallieres and Guldenhorfs for starting this civil war. As far as Guiche was concerned, this was Brimir's will, and he had to accept it – though it did not mean that had to like it.

Maybe someday, his father would forgive him? Maybe someday, he could be a Gramont again? Things had been so much simpler he had been back at the Academy, when he believed that good would always triumph over evil. But who was good and who was evil anymore?

"Oh, hey there, Guiche! So this is where you've been moping around these days?"

Cartier Martin lurched over to Guiche, a wineskin in one hand and another soldier wearing Bonaparte's blue and white uniform accompanying him. Plopping down on the ground, he threw an arm around Guiche before taking a pull from the wineskin.

"So, you looking out at your daddy's men? That's some nice ships he's got over there." Martin said. "Course, Albion had some even nicer ships too, and that didn't help them at all, did it, Charles?"

"I wouldn't know." The new soldier shrugged. "I told you already, Martin. I lived in Tristania during the fight against Albion. But times were hard enough then, and they'll be even harder now. Way I see it, when General Bonaparte called for soldiers, might as well as get some work which will get me a steady meal."

"There's a lot more than food you can get if you play your cards right." Martin grinned. "Much more valuable things. And same to you, kid!"

He slapped Guiche on the back, but Guiche just looked out at the ships. Martin looked over at Guiche, and sighed.

"Hey, I know it's hard, kid. But don't forget – you're not the only who's gotten kicked out of one of the great families."

"You're talking about Louise?" Guiche asked.

"Louise? Of course not! I'm talking about me! Just like you're the fourth son of Marshal Gramont, I'm the fourth son of Duke Walloon! Of course, one of my brother's actually adopted, and one of them's dead, and I don't even know what Albert is doing these days, but the point is that I used to be the son of Duke Walloon, before that prude kicked me out for enjoying myself. It sucked, sure, but I don't regret it at all looking back – the Duke and I never got along."

"Hold on a minute." Guiche asked. "Are you serious? The Gramonts and Walloons have always been great friends, but I don't remember you nor have I heard of you."

"You think the Duke of Walloon wants to talk about me?" Martin shrugged. "I do remember you. You were barely a small child the last time I saw you when I was still part of the family. Got kicked out shortly afterwards, and been plying my trade ever since."

He drank again and lay down on the grass.

"Oh, don't get me wrong Guiche, there's bad days. Two years ago, it was hard to find work anywhere, I was just stuck guarding some weak lord's cattle. Something a guard dog could do, and I'm a wind mage! But these days, things have been great. And the freedom to do what you like, drink what you like, plunder what you like. I'll probably settle down soon, but for now I wouldn't trade what I've done for anything in the world."

"Is that so?" A curt, feminine voice cut in. "Weren't you just telling me a few hours ago that you would give up your ways for a quick kiss on the cheek from me?"

Matilda walked over, staring at the three soldiers. Her breathing was slightly heavy, but she still appeared as composed as ever.

"You finished training with Louise?" Guiche asked.

"In a manner of speaking." Matilda lightly responded. "I might have flung her on her back a little too hard at one point. She's having difficulty moving, so I thought we might as well stop for the day."

"Oh, my sweet Matilda!" Martin cried. "I was only jesting with my comrades here, I truly meant none of it! The finest roses wilt in comparison to you, and no lady in the land could possibly compare with your eternal beauty! Oh, the lengths I would go, the challenges I would accomplish, in order that my words should reach your heart and nestle there for all eter-"

BLAM.

Rolling her eyes, Matilda conjured up the arms of one of her earth golems, which promptly backhanded Martin.

"Declined."

Guiche and Charles looked over at Martin, who had been buried in the earth by the golem's blow, and just shrugged.

"So, how is Louise progressing, Matilda?" He asked. "You're still having her fight with that knife?"

"Stiletto. She sometimes seems to think that she's wielding one of your swords, Guiche, but her instincts are improving. She is capable of beating me if I have no weapon at all, so now it's just knife-fighting practice."

Matilda sat down alongside Guiche, then looked over at Martin.

"By the way, you lecherous idiot, I do have something I would like to ask you. And do try to answer it without your awful poetry, would you?"

"If my precious Matilda insists, I must obey." Martin declared, extricating himself all the while. "But please, take this instead."

He reached behind his back and pulled out another wineskin, tossing it to Matilda. Charles stiffened.

"Hey, Martin, weren't we going to bet for that-"

"Louise seems to have a high opinion of the Walloon family." Matilda interrupted. "According to her, your father is a pious man who donates a great deal to the Church."

"Oh, that's horsedung." Martin snorted. "Father only turned to the Church because no one else would accept him. The reality is that two generations ago, the Walloons were nobodies. They owned a bunch of useless mountains that no one cared about. But then one day, they struck a massive silver mine. It's still working today, the richest in Helgekinia. My grandfather used that silver to buy up land and titles, so much so that he joined the ranks of the Great Families."

"But since they're so new, the other nobles have looked down on them?"

"Correct, Guiche." Martin shrugged. "Most nobles have less power than the Walloons, but that still doesn't stop them from repeatedly insulting them for their bloodline. So, the Walloons turned to the Church. They were more than happy to take our money. It's also why my father likes yours so much, Guiche – old Marshal Gramont is far too clever to care about things like who you were descended from."

He tilted the wineskin back, and grinned back at Matilda.

"Well, I told you about the Walloons. Now how about something in return? A kiss on the cheek, or on the mouth, or perhaps somewhere else? Don't worry, I'm told that I-"

BLAM.

This time, Matilda summoned a full earth golem, which slammed Martin face down into the ground.

"Declined."

…

…

"So, General Bonaparte, what is the plan?"

Louise looked over at Napoleon, her back still aching. It had been a few days since her partner had received the "honor" of fighting against Guiche's father. He had spent his time thinking in his tent, and every now and then riding amongst the troops and talking with them, especially with the Duke of Guldenhorf's men. Today they were back in the main tent, planning out their future strategy. All of the nobles who had soldiers were here, along with a few retainers. Beatrice was there, and the blonde girl pointedly refused to look at Louise or Napoleon. Captain Stewart stood behind Napoleon, his hands rolling one cigarette after another. A few of the nobles quite clearly wrinkled their noses at the smell of tobacco leaves, but none of them said anything and Stewart paid them no mind. At least he wasn't lighting them, Louise thought to herself.

Napoleon pointed at a giant map of Tristain.

"I've sent scouts south, east, and west to check on the Gramont movements." Napoleon said. "Only the southern scouts that I sent directly to Gramont's camp have returned as of now, but they've already confirmed the important thing. Gramont is waiting to the south, southeast to be specific, for additional reinforcements."

"That seems logical." Count Noyon observed. "But still, General Bonaparte, I would like to ask a question. I heard that when you sent out the scouts, you only sent out our horsemen, and didn't bother with the griffin and dragon knights. Why was that?"

"The griffin and dragon knights are more valuable." Napoleon smoothly responded. "I was already confident that Gramont would stay to the south. If I had sent the knights out, they would have been seen, and a skirmish would have broken out. I was not interested in attacking at that point."

"Hm. I see."

A few of the nobles nodded in acknowledgment, but Louise fought the urge to roll her eyes.

_You liar_, she thought. _You plain forgot to send out the dragon and griffin knights. I was there when you realized your mistake._

But she said nothing. What was done was done, after all.

"Deed scouts see Gramont?" Kundera asked, his voice as accented as normal. "Or Robert, his son?"

"It appears not. But they saw the Gramont soldiers. They didn't have time to count all of them of course, but they saw a large number of soldiers in the camp. I believe that is good enough."

"So, Gramont is to the southeast." Guldenhorf said. "It would be difficult for him to outflank us. We would notice him if he marched around our right flank, and there's woods that would impede his progress if he marched around our left. We would also be able to see his ships moving if he attempted such a maneuver."

"But it'll be difficult for us to outflank him." Richemont pointed out. "Gramont would be between us and Tristania if he managed to get around us. It would be difficult for him to take the city, but there are a series of hills just south of Tristania which would make a strong defensive location that could threaten our supplies. If we try to outflank Guldenhorf, he could very well just march forward, and then we might be trapped between him and his upcoming reinforcements."

"We could escape into east, in Walloon's territory, were he to do that." Guldenhorf observed.

"It would still be a major advantage for him." Bonaparte said. "If Gramont could outflank us, he should. But he's waiting back for reinforcements to the southeast, and has missed his chance. He is no doubt playing for time, waiting for the Vallieres to finish calling their soldiers."

"That is true." Kundera observed. "So do we attack immediately?"

"In a sense." Bonaparte stated. "Gramont is about a little more than a two days' march from here, but we can get our ships to Gramont's camp much faster, in about a day or so. We have more ships than Gramont. We can send them against his ships, destroy them, and then have the ships harass Gramont's men and any defensive structures they have until we arrive. At that point, we just plain attack them. No fine tactics, just a straight up brawl. We have more men, and they'll be in better shape for the battle. We defeat Gramont's forces before his reinforcements can arrive."

"It makes sense." The Count of Burgundy said. "With a force as large as ours, the simplest strategies are the best. Who'll be sent to command the ships?"

"Isn't that obvious?" Guldenhorf declared. "Those ships are all mine, and I have no intention of handing them over. I'll set off on my flagship _Thunder_, and clear the way for the rest of you to mop up."

A few of the nobles glowered at Guldenhorf's bold declaration, but Bonaparte only smiled.

"Well, that is quite noble of you, Duke Guldenhorf. Such an assignment may be very dangerous. But you cannot sail south on the _Thunder_ and at the time supervise your soldiers who remain here. Who will handle them when you are gone?"

The Duke seemed entirely nonplussed by that question.

"What are you talking about? Beatrice, of course."

"…"

No one said anything at first. Than finally…

"What?" Napoleon asked.

"What?" The Duke of Richemont blurted.

"Wat." Count Kundera said.

"WHHHHHAAAATTTTTT?!" Beatrice shrieked.

The Duke looked over at his daughter.

"What is it? You are my heir, are you not? You're always talking about how you shouldn't be wasting your time with being a lady, do you not?"

"W-well, yes…" Beatrice stammered. "But I wanted to see a battle first, and see everyone fighting. T-to command-"

"It is your duty as my heir, Beatrice. Besides, you will just need to supervise the men as they march south for a few days. I doubt anything important will happen, and the other nobles can assist you. Even you, General Bonaparte. I CAN trust you for that much?"

He glared over at Bonaparte, who shrugged.

"Very well, Duke Guldenhorf. I wish you the best of luck."

Guldenhorf nodded. He turned to kiss Beatrice on the cheek and strode out of the tent without a word. Before anyone could say anything, Beatrice sat down on her father's chair.

"Very well, very well." She said. "Now, when are we going to be moving out, Count Burgundy?"

"Immediately, perhaps?" Burgundy said, looking at Napoleon.

"No." Napoleon shook his hand. "I'd prefer to wait until tomorrow to prepare, and then we will march. If I am correct, you are all drawing supplies from your own separate territories, are we not?"

"Well, yes." One lord said.

"That needs to change. I would recommend that we send our supplies through Tristania, as a common avenue for them to be distributed as necessary. How many guns do we have? How many pikes? How many swords? How much hay do we have, as well as cows and goats for the dragons and griffins? How much bread do we have, what kind, what is its condition? How many water mages? How many mages? How many-"

"Oh, come on, General Bonaparte!" Beatrice cried. "Are you a general or a bookkeeper?"

"In war, Lady Beatrice, there is frequently no difference. Once everything is ready, we will march south on Guld – er, Gramont's men, and defeat the enemy army."

…

…

"And have the rest of the books stowed. Anna, please make sure that they are sorted in the proper order."

A maid bowed, and Jerome, the butler of the Valliere estate, was left alone in the kitchen. There was plenty to do. Her Majesty had always made sure that this estate was clean, but with the comings and goings these days, everything had to be completely spotless. Nobles showed up every now and then, pledging their loyalty to the Valliere cause. With Her Majesty gone to meet Wardes as well as the issues of both Eleanor and Cattleya, Jerome observed that these days he was basically running the estate.

It could not have happened at a worse time. At the moment when the Valliere family needed every bit of strength to bring peace to Tristain, the Vallieres were weaker than ever. Her Majesty's husband had died, two of the children were in poor health, and the third had been disowned. Lady Valliere would have to handle everything by herself. She could, of course, if she was around – she was an absolute titan of humanity, capable of working and fighting for days and days with nothing more than a few hours' meditation and rest. But she was away.

Still, things were a little calmer for the moment. No noble was scheduled to come for a while, and Cattleya at least seemed healthier these days. Jerome had just given the order for some of the final cleaning that had to be done for the day, and hopefully he could start planning for tonight's meal. Nothing much. Just some watercress soup with…

_~ring ring~_

The servant's bell was sounding. From the display, Jerome saw that it was coming from Lady Eleanor's room. A slight surprise, he thought to himself. At any rate, there was no one else in the kitchen to send up, and if it was from Lady Eleanor's room, it was likely highly important. Jerome went up there himself.

Eleanor sat upright in her bed, a book in one hand. Jerome bowed as he entered the room.

"Is there anything you desire, my lady?"

Eleanor said nothing for a long moment, just staring at the bowed form of the old butler. Then she closed her one good eye and lifted a scarred arm.

"Jerome, help me up."

Jerome raised his head up.

"My lady." He said. "There is a wheelchair over there. If you desire to go somewhere-"

"Help. Me. Up." Eleanor repeated.

Jerome nodded. He walked over to the side of the bed and bent down his head. Eleanor slung an arm around his neck, and with not a little assistance from Jerome, stood up from the bed. Slowly but surely, the pair walked to the end of the bed.

"Where is it that you desire to go, my lady?"

"To the study." Eleanor declared, her strong voice contrasting with her body. "I have spent enough time in this bed. It is time I did my part preparing the Vallieres for the war."

"My lady," Jerome admonished. "It would be best for you to wait until you're better. I know you're worried about your sister, but she has been feeling better as of late and has been working. If you would just rest-"

"I'm the oldest sister." Eleanor coolly stated. "And Cattleya is barely healthier than I am, if she is at all. It's unfair for her to be working while I rest."

Jerome sighed. Even better than Her Majesty, he knew how stubborn Eleanor could be when she had made up her mind.

"Very well." He said. "Let us go."

It was slow going as they made their way down the hall. Eleanor's steps were firmer than they had been in the past, but she still stumbled now and then. Fortunately, the Valliere study was not far from her bedroom. The door was locked, but Jerome opened it with his master key.

Eleanor looked around the room. It was plainly decorated, in the style which both her mother and her father had liked. A single, large desk occupied the window. It was overrun with papers, along with an unlit candle, some wax, and quills to write with.

"Has Cattleya ever asked for your help when she works?" Eleanor asked.

"At first." Jerome answered. "She was unused to handling the paperwork initially. But she seems to have grown more confident in the last few days, so she's been in here alone. There's been a few people she's sent out to deliver messages and the like, but no one else."

"So if she was to collapse from her illness, no one would be there to notice? From now on, you will send servants to check on her every hour. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lady."

Eleanor nodded, and then tilted her head towards the desk. Jerome understood the gesture, and helped Eleanor sit down in front of the desk. He glanced at the door.

"Will you wanting to be alone, My Lady? You have had some experience managing the Valliere affairs in the past."

"After just telling you about how I don't want you to leave Cattleya alone?" Eleanor laughed. "I guess I would like you to go make me a cup of tea. But after that, I should like you to stand by and help from time to time."

Jerome bowed and left for the kitchens. As he waited for the water to boil, he couldn't help but worry about Eleanor. Would she even still be sitting on that chair, or would she have given out from the effort and be slumped onto the floor? Nevertheless, he patiently waited as the tea brewed, and brought the cup back to the study.

Eleanor was perfectly fine when he returned. But her expression was clearly puzzled as she shuffled from one sheet of papers to the next. She did not even notice when Jerome set down the cup next to her only on the desk, and he was forced to quietly cough to announce his presence.

"Oh. Thank you, Jerome. But could you tell me something?"

"Of course, my Lady."

"Exactly when did you stop helping Cattleya? It can't have been that long ago. Mother has been gone for less than a week."

"Two days ago." Jerome answered. "Is something the matter?"

Eleanor did not answer at first, and instead went back through the papers, going over them one by one. Then she sighed and shook her head.

"That idiot." She finally mumbled. "She's been up to date on dealing with the affairs of the estate, and with some of the standard things which Mother has to handle now that she's Queen. But she hasn't done any work at calling the men out onto the field to fight for the family for the last two days. There's a few captains, minor lords and such who have inquired about what to do. She hasn't answered them at all. If this goes on, some of them might think that the Vallieres were ignoring them, and would be insulted."

"She must have had greater problems handling it with her illness than she had shown to me." Jerome said. "My humblest apologies, Lady Eleanor. I should have paid better attention to Cattleya's health."

"What's done is done." Eleanor shrugged. "Though I've changed my mind. I will not just have a servant checking in on Cattleya every hour. There will be one with her at all times, especially when she is working here."

Jerome nodded. For a while, the two of them worked together on ensuring that the Vallieres would be ready. Requisitioning supplies, giving out orders, stamping letters and the like, the time went smoothly and calmly. But after the two of them had finished writing a letter to yet another mercenary captain, the door to the study opened.

"E-eleanor!"

Cattelya squeaked in surprise as she entered, her face as white as a sheet. Eleanor looked up and over at her sister, and then shook her head.

"I'm disappointed in you, sister." She said.

Cattleya's mouth wavered for several moments, and her eyes shifted from Eleanor to Jerome and back again. Her face was so pale, and her legs staggered so badly that Jerome thought that she would faint upon seeing her sister. Finally after a moment, she righted herself and smiled beautifully.

"I'm sorry you had to find out like this, Eleanor." She said. "I really didn't want things to end up like this, but I guess that's just how it is."

"Why, Cattleya?" Eleanor asked. "Why did you try so hard to, you know…"

She waved a hand over the papers on the desk. Cattleya shook her head.

"I thought that it would be obvious, sister. It was because of-"

"Because of your health, right?"

"Huh?"

Cattleya blinked, but Eleanor continued on.

"I know you're doing your best, Cattleya, but you shouldn't try to do all the paperwork on your own. That's why you're behind on the paperwork, right?"

"Y-Yes." Cattleya admitted. "Yes, I'm sorry, sister. But I've been feeling better the last few days, so I thought I could-"

"Well, the three of us are going to have to work together." Eleanor said. "You, me, and Jerome here. Perhaps the three of us combined can work as well as our mother by herself. Okay, Cattleya?"

Cattleya looked down at the ground, and then raised her head and nodded. She was smiling, but Jerome noted how Cattleya's eyes watered.

"Of course." She finally whispered. "Sorry, sister. I hope you can forgive me."

"Of course I do. And there's no need to cry about it." Eleanor said. "Jerome, get another chair. And tell one of the servants to make us some supper. Cattleya and I can eat while we work. Goodness knows there's enough to do."

…

…

Louise looked around the tent, and grumbled to herself.

_Are you a general or a bookkeeper?_

Napoleon had brushed off Beatrice's complaint, and had in fact laughed it off when the two of them as well as Captain Stewart returned to their tent. But even though this was not Louise's first war, she was surprised by how much time Napoleon had spent with figures and numbers. When he was not meeting and talking with the soldiers, asking what they needed, he was going over supplies. She had caught him repeatedly grumbling about the dragon and griffin riders, even though men who were wealthy enough to own a dragon generally handled the upkeep of their mounts by themselves. It appeared that while horses existed, those creatures did not exist in the world he had come from.

But that was not all that annoyed her. Right now, sprawled out on a bearskin, slept Napoleon. Louise looked down at him, her hands on her hips, and then kicked him in the ribs a few times.

"Hey, Bonaparte. It's been two hours."

Napoleon's eyes opened in a flash. He got right up from the bearskin without even a yawn, his blue and white uniform stained with dirt here and there.

"Good morning, Louise." He nodded. "I trust you're ready? You certainly appear so."

"I'm more worried about you." Louise snapped. "Are you sure you are ready? You've been working without a rest for the past two days, and then you just sleep on that filthy thing for a few hours? It'll be bad if you collapse on the battlefield."

"We are just marching today, there's nothing to worry about. What about you, Louise? Are you ready for the march?"

Louise bent down and pattered her left ankle. Her knife was strapped down there, her wand was in her hand, and both of their bags and horses were outside the tent.

"Let's go." She said. "Matilda is waiting for us as well."

The two of them left the tent. Matilda bowed to both of them, and then each of them mounted a horse.

"Are the troops ready, Matilda?" Napoleon asked.

"It appears that the final preparations are underway." Matilda said. "I assume everything will be ready to go shortly. Captain Stewart is waiting for you at the parade ground, and in addition-"

Matilda's remarks were cut off by the sound of galloping hooves. Three more horses bore down on the group. Beatrice was on one mount, the Duke of Richemont on the other, but Louise did not recognize the third. He wore a uniform which identified him as one of Richemont's men, but it was torn in several places and the man's face was heavily bandaged.

"General Bonaparte!" The man cried as he rode up to Bonaparte. "It's a disaster, it's a disaster! I…I.."

"Hold on, soldier." Napoleon said. "What is going on? You're one of the scouts, right?"

"Yes, General." The man nodded. "I was sent east on a reconnaissance mission, towards the woods in that direction. We spotted nothing at first, and everything was fine. But then as we returned, we were surrounded by the enemy!"

Napoleon's eyes narrowed.

"That forest is close to the southern border of Walloon territory." Napoleon noted. "Did the Duke send additional reinforcements? How many men? What direction did they march in?"

The cavalryman shook his head.

"No, General." He said. "They weren't Walloon men. It's the entire Gramont army! All of them, it must have been. They're east of us right now, and I believe they're heading north towards Tristania!"

"They're east of us? In the woods?" Beatrice sputtered. "That's impossible! Our scouts to the south reported that the Gramont army was there just yesterday! Those woods are about a three days' march from their position, there's no way they could have gotten there that quickly!

"I'm reporting what I saw!" The scout declared. "I swear, in the name of Brimir and my own life that it's true! That it's-"

"Did you see General Gramont?" Bonaparte cut in. "Or Robert de Gramont?"

"No, sir. We were surrounded, and had to do all we could to survive. Many of my comrades fell. But I can declare that it was 10,000 soldiers at least, and more like 15,000. I am telling you, the Gramont is currently east of us, and they're heading north as we speak!"

"T-this is nonsense!" Beatrice cried. "There's no way it can be done! There's no way! It has to be a trap! Marshal Gramont sent a small detachment to march around us, that's what it has to be!"

"That is not true, my lady!" The scout said. "It was no small detachment, it was thousands upon thousands of-"

"Oh, BE QUIET! I'm telling you, there is no way it can be done, there is no way-"

"No."

The Duke of Richemont quietly spoke. His expression remained calm, but Louise noted how tightly his right hand clenched the reins of his horse.

"For most armies, it would be impossible. But not for Marshal Gramont. He would be able to get around our entire army without us noticing."

"What are you talking about?" Napoleon calmly asked.

The Duke ignored Bonaparte and turned toward his scout.

"Order the men to march north. Double-time. We need to head for the hills between our location and Tristania as soon as possible!"

The scout nodded and rode off. Napoleon rode closer to the Duke.

"So what are you talking about? How did Gramont get around us?"

The Duke raised an eyebrow.

"Isn't it obvious to someone with as much military experience as yourself? The Duke hasn't been southeast of us for a while now. In fact, it's possible he was never there to begin with. You see, General Bonaparte…"

…

…

"Gently, gently lads."

Marshal Gramont grumbled a bit as his litter was set down. He could no longer ride at his age, and thus had to be carried around on long marches. While he would admit that sitting in a litter was more comfortable than riding, especially since he no longer needed to wear armor, to be carried like a child was still deeply humiliating. He idly mused what he would give up to be young again, but he threw the thought aside. Even if his years would soon come to an end, he had no regrets. It was time for the younger generations to carve a better future.

Robert was right there on his horse. He dismounted, and helped his father out of the litter and into his wheelchair.

"Are you all right, Father?" He asked. "Your color is better now, but you're still breathing too heavily for my liking."

"It's been four days since I used that spell." The Marshal said. "I'm fine now, Robert. I'm fine."

"You should have relied on us more, Father. You have three sons, we're almost as good with that spell as you are. When you collapsed afterwards, Vincent nearly burst into tears."

"The three of you worked your magic as well and did your best. But I know that spell better than you do. More importantly, did it succeed in distracting the Alliance?

Robert burst into a grin. Standing behind the wheelchair, he pushed his father to the edge of a hill. In the distance, they could see the Sun and Lightning of Guldenhorf marching slowly on them.

"They're too late." Robert laughed. "I was worried when we ran into those scouts in the woods, but it was too late! We're between them and Tristania, between them and their supply lines! And on top of these hills, we're in a strong defensive position! We've won, Father, we've won!"

"It's far too early to proclaim victory, Robert." The Marshal admonished.

"But it is as you noted, Father. The Alliance is in trouble no matter what they do. If they choose to wait, then we buy even more time, they run out of supplies, the Vallieres finish mobilizing, and we've won the war. We also have reinforcements coming in from the south, to support the Guldenhorf ships attacking our ships in the south! If Guldenhorf tries attacking either us, or the arriving reinforcements, then the group he does not attack will move out and hit them from behind! Not to mention, while the southern reinforcements may have all the Gramont ships, we're on top of a series of hills to help defend us, and our dragon and griffin knights can attack the Guldenhorf ships if they try to wheel around."

"True." The Marshal mused. "So what do you think the Guldenhorfs and General Bonaparte will do? What would you do if you were in their situation, Robert?"

Robert thought about this for a moment, then nodded.

"I'd attack the southern army. They may have the air ships, but Guldenhorf still has more of them than they do. And they're being led by Jean, who lacks the military background that you and I have. I would attempt to finish them off quickly before we got word of the attack, and then turn around and finish us off."

"A sound analysis." The Marshal observed. "That's what I would do, too. After the initial fortifications here are built, we should prepare to march quickly on a moment's notice if Bonaparte and Guldenhorf attack the southern force. They won't survive if they're attacked by both sides at once, especially with the reinforcements."

The two Gramonts looked out at the marching Guldenhorf army in the distance. It slowed down after a while, and then finally stopped.

"They're about a three hours' march away from us." Robert observed.

"True." The Marshal. "A bit closer than I would like, but they're still too far away to launch a surprise attack. They will probably wait for the day."

Robert nodded.

"Shall I go and give the order for the soldiers to build fortifications?"

The Marshal did not respond. He looked out on the Guldenhorf army, a finger on his face. Robert shuffled his feet for a bit, but then quickly bowed and prepared to head out.

"Wait."

The Marshal suddenly cut him off with a word, and Robert turned around.

"What is it, Father?"

"Robert, there is something I would like to ask. Something I have yet to talk to you about."

"I promise to answer truthfully." Robert said.

The Marshal looked over at his son.

"What happened that night in Saxe-Gotha? The night Her Majesty Henrietta died?"

Robert drew back a bit at that question. He lowered his head, but did not respond.

"I'm not blaming you for anything, Robert." Gramont said. "I have no doubt that you fought bravely and did your duty, and because of that, I've never questioned you about it. No doubt it is a night you would like to forget, after all. But did anything strange happen on that night? Or right before it?"

"Why are you asking now then?" Robert stared down at the ground.

The Marshal looked away from Robert and stared right back at the Guldenhorf camp.

"Because there is something odd about that night." He said "And there is someone that I want to save."

The Marshal said nothing more. Robert's eyes moved up, and he looked directly at his father, clearly hesitating. But before he began to speak, he was interrupted.

"Forget it, son." Gramont said. "It's nothing. I'm sorry I asked. You don't need to say anything. Now, get the orders for the fortifications to be built."

Robert nodded, and took off in the direction of the soldiers. Gramont watched him leave, and then turned his face back in the direction of the Guldenhorf army. He reached into his robes and pulled out a white king piece.

"I call check, General Bonaparte." He muttered to himself. "Her Majesty may not like my next move, but I know that it is the right thing to do."

…

…

"So, it's confirmed, then?"

Napoleon sat in his tent. Louise, Matilda, Captain Stewart, and Martin were all with him, as well as a messenger. The messenger shrank with fear before Bonaparte's flat, dead eyes.

"Y-yes, General Bonaparte. You can see it for yourself. The Gramont army is on top of a series of hills in between our army and Tristania. If they are allowed to stay up there, they can cut off our supply lines, and even threaten Tristania itself. I doubt they'll attack the capital itself, but-"

"I asked for facts. Not your useless opinions."

"My apologies, General."

Napoleon closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead for a moment. But he said absolutely nothing for several moments. The messenger fidgeted for a moment, and then opened his mouth.

"General, perhaps it would be for the best if we-"

"Get out."

Napoleon's voice was so soft, that the messenger craned his head slightly forward.

"Pardon me sir, but-"

"GET OUT! ALL OF YOU, GET OUT OF HERE RIGHT NOW!"

Everyone in the tent jumped in shock, and then they all filed out of the tent. Louise was the last one to leave, but Napoleon then pointed a finger at her.

"You. Stay."

Louise turned back around, and sat down on another chair. She stared at Napoleon, her expression somewhat wary, before she spoke.

"You know, I know Duke Richemont explained to you what Gramont did. But I didn't manage to hear it. So what did he mean by Gramont pulling the impossible? He said that Gramont was never there to begin with? But we sent scouts there and…"

"You knew Guiche in the Academy, right?"

"Y-yes." Louise asked. "What about it?"

"Guiche is skilled with making bronze Valkyries, metal creatures which do his bidding." Napoleon observed. "The Gramonts are a family of earth mages, but by and large, that is their speciality. They can create golems, Valkyries, creatures of metal and earth to do their bidding. And at the highest levels, Marshal Gramont and his older sons can create golems which looks just like a human from a distance.

"Wait." Louise gasped. "You mean that-"

"None of our scouts ever managed to actually enter the Gramont camp." Napoleon said. "They saw what they thought were human soldiers patrolling the camp, doing their usual business and so on, but they were really human-like golems created by the Gramonts. Had they watched the camp long enough, or gotten close enough to the camp, the scouts would have noticed the difference. But they didn't because they worried about being captured by Gramont scouts.

So when they reported back, they said that they had seen the Gramont soldiers to the southeast. But they didn't. At that time Gramont was already marching to the east and north, around our left flank and towards Tristania. He even left his ships behind in order to complete the deception."

"Do you know what he's going to do next?"

"I don't."

Louise could not help but slightly smile at those words.

"I think that may be the first time I've heard you say that." She said. "Wouldn't he march directly on Tristania?"

"Tristania would not be easy to take." Napoleon said. "The size of the city, as well as the garrison that I left there, would mean that Gramont would need to commit nearly his entire army to seize the city. While he would certainly succeed, that would leave him wide open for a counterattack from behind from us. And that's not even the real problem."

"What is?"

"Gramont could have destroyed us." Napoleon said. "He had marched around our left flank completely without our side knowing of it, all while we were completely preoccupied with the planned march to the south. He could have taken us by surprise and thrashed us. It's what I would have done, and if Gramont was clever enough to sneak past us, he should be clever enough to see the opportunity. But instead, he marched north, and is currently encamped north of us without attacking. Why did he not attack?"

He stood up and paced the tent for a moment, muttering to himself all the while.

"What about the ships?" Louise then asked. "All of Guldenhorf's ships are to the south, as well as the Gramont ships. What is going to happen there?"

"I want Guldenhorf to stay there. He can keep a watch on the Gramont ships and any additional reinforcements from the south. I've sent a dragon knight to tell him of what's happened. Whether Guldenhorf listens or not is another matter."

He grumbled, and sat back down in his chair.

"It was my mistake." Napoleon admitted at last. "And because of it, the initiative lies with Gramont. Well, let us see what he does with it, and I will determine my next response."


	48. The Devil: Chapter 8

"_Auferre, trucidare, rapere, falsis nominibus imperium; atque, ubi solitudinem faciunt, pacem appellant."_

Tacitus.

…

…

This must be what it felt like to die, Wardes the Younger thought to himself.

He had fought in numerous battles, both as the captain of Tristain's Griffin Knights and as a servant to King Joseph. But he had never felt himself to be in serious danger. Even when he had lost to Louise, he knew that he would be fine. His griffin came to the rescue and he managed to escape.

But now there was no escape. He had to report back to King Joseph Gaul of his failure to capture either Tiffania or Louise. And if King Joseph was in a bad mood, if he wanted Wardes dead as a result, Wardes knew that there was nothing he could do. Yet there was no way he could not enter the throne room.

He muttered a quick prayer to Brimir, the first time he had done so in years, and then opened the wooden doors. Maybe if I'm lucky, he thought to himself, King Joseph will just grant me a quick death.

The King sat at a long table, surrounded by his councilors. A few guards stood at attention by the walls. He looked up and broke into a wide grin.

"Wardes!" He jovially shouted. "My good friend! I am glad to see you are back, safe and sound. Excuse me, everyone, today's council is finished for today."

"Your Majesty." One of the councilors said. "I was not finished discussing the matter of Charlotte. As I was saying-"

"My council is finished today, my good sir." Joseph smiled. "I would be very annoyed if I had to repeat myself again, you know?"

The councilors got the hint. With a nary a word, they left the table and the throne hall. With a wave of his hand, Joseph dismissed the guards and they followed the councilors out.

"Charlotte?" Wardes asked.

"It appears that my precious niece has left the Tristain Academy." King Joseph shrugged. "They say she was last spotted heading towards Gallia, but I have no idea where she is right now."

"Is this not a problem, sire? If your niece was to enter Gallia, she could rally the people behind her. After all, she has-"

"Not with her mother's life at stake. Charlotte may pretend to be an emotionless doll, but the fact is that she is too kind to be a ruler. To do absolutely nothing for year after year, just because I hold that lunatic hostage? That girl ought to celebrate if her mother dies. But I guess I didn't celebrate when I killed my kin, eh?"

Joseph giggled madly, and then snapped his fingers. A servant came in with a jug of wine and two glasses. He set them down, poured a cup for Wardes, and left the room.

"Now, Wardes. Care for a drink?"

Wardes could not help but stare at the glass with some apprehension. Joseph laughed once again.

"Scared of poison, are you? Don't worry, it is safe. I'll show you."

The Mad King picked up Wardes's cup and gulped a mouthful of the wine. He handed the cup back to Wardes. Wardes's fingers trembled, but he drank. There was nothing peculiar about the taste.

"Your Majesty, I came to report that-"

"No need to report." Joseph said. "You don't have the half-elf with you, so you failed. And Menvil is not with you, which means that he's probably dead. Am I right?"

Wardes just looked down at the ground. Joseph sighed and poured a cup for himself.

"Honestly, Wardes. I don't know why I keep you around sometimes. I send you to steal the Staff of Destruction. You do, but you screw the Staff up somehow, injure yourself, and now it doesn't work. I send you to break Fouquet out of prison and give her a suicide mission. Fouquet defects to General Bonaparte, and you can't do a thing about it. I send you to kill Princess Henrietta. You succeed, but that's only because General Bonaparte delivered her to you. I send you to find the half-elf. You fail and get Menvil killed."

"Begging your pardon sire, but Menvil died because-"

"Because he did something _stupid?_" Joseph laughed. "Of course he did, he's Menvil. Expecting Menvil to do something intelligent is like expecting Sheffield to quit trying to make me fall in love with her. You knew this in advance. I expected you to handle him, and you failed. Again."

"Sire, you must understand that-"

"SHEFFIELD!" Joseph roared. "I have had enough of this one's excuses. Take him away and throw him into the dungeons! At once!"

"Your-your Majesty, please. You must understand that I can still be of great service to you. Let me go retrieve the elf one more time, and I promise that I will not fail!"

"I am done with second chances!" Joseph yelled. "Your time is up, Wardes! I spared you because I thought you would have some usefulness against the Faker, but I see I was wrong! He will kill you all the same. Sheffield, take him away!"

"Sire, please!"

Wardes collapsed onto a chair, his face pale. The burned side of his face twisted into a grimace as he gasped for breath. He waited with terror for Sheffield to arrive, to come and throw him into the dungeons…

But the doors to the throne room did not open. Nothing happened for several moments. Wardes looked around the room for several long moments of apprehension, but then…

"Hee…."

King Joseph sucked in a long breath of air.

"HeeheeheeheeheeheeHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I got you good Wardes, didn't I? I got you good! Oh, you should have seen your face. You were gasping like a fish out of water BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

The Mad King doubled over with laughter, his fist pounding the table. Wardes's expression slowly morphed from terror towards something measuring relief, though his good eye still flitted nervously.

"Y-you mean…I'm fine?"

"Sheffield's away." Joseph smiled. "I've sent her off on an incredibly important secret mission. Super-duper secret! So no, she's not going to kill you. I'm not going to kill you at all! Don't you feel just _won-der-ful_, Wardes?"

"Y-yes, sire? I thank you for your mercy and-"

"Well, you SHOULDN'T!" Joseph slammed his fist on the table. "You should be happy to die as recompense for your failures, and overjoyed that I would just toss you into the dungeons! Unfortunately, Wardes, I have to admit that I really want to kill you, but I do need you around to handle the Faker. It's really quite annoying. Though I was glad that you didn't reach for your wand even when you thought I was going to kill you. Quite touching loyalty there."

He picked up his glass and drained it.

"That's how it is." He said. "I suppose I have to give you another job, don't I? Have to make you useful somehow. Well, I'm hungry. Wardes, get down to the kitchens and help the cook make tonight's meal."

"Excuse me, sire?" Wardes asked. "I am a knight, the former captain of Tristain's Griffin Knights."

"And your point is?"

Joseph smiled. Wardes blanched in terror to that smile.

"Very well, sire. I will head to the kitchens."

"That's a good servant!" King Joseph laughed. "Think of it as a new experience. There are so many thing that I would like to try, that's how I get through each and every day! Don't worry, Wardes, I'll have a more useful job for you soon!"

He chortled once more, and then lurched out of the throne room, leaving Wardes alone.

"Perhaps if you value new experiences so much, you should head down to the kitchen yourself." Wardes muttered to himself.

…

…

A howling wind roared outside the main Alliance tent. Inside, a sumptuous feast had been placed before the nobles. But even though the delicious smell of meat, bread, and vegetables lingered through the air, few of them bothered to eat. Count Kundera picked at his pork for a bit, and then pushed the plate away. He leaned back in his chair and stroked his gray beard.

"So, vat is situation?" He asked.

"The Gramont army is to our north, between us and Tristania." The Duke of Richemont said. "They are just a few miles away, close enough that we can give battle if we want. But they are on top of a series of hills. There are three particularly large hills where their forces are strongest."

"Are we sure that is even where they are?" Count Noyon asked. "How do we know that this isn't yet another trap?"

"Telling the difference between Marshal Gramont's Valkyries and humans is easy if you know where to look." Richemont responded. "Gramont is not capable of making them fully autonomous, which means that his Valkyries move in a preplanned pattern. And since they are made from metal and not flesh, their walking motions are different from a human. So yes, I have verified it with the Dragon Knights. Gramont's men are up there."

"You would think General Bonaparte would have known something like that." Beatrice grumbled, her mouth full of food. "Alas, I guess that's what my father gets for trusting a commoner."

"Perhaps." Richemont said. "But Beatrice, you said that your father intends to stay in the south with our ships?"

"_His_ ships, Duke Richemont. Apparently General Bonaparte sent him a letter telling him of what's happened and asking him of his intentions. Can you believe that he did that without my permission?"

She swallowed, and then picked up a roll.

"Anyways, my father sent his response to me. He has decided to stay south. By doing so, he can keep the Gramont ships at bay and prevent any reinforcements coming from the south."

"So Gramont will not be getting reinforcements from the south." Count Burgundy said. "He also will not get men from the north or the west, as there are no nobles who would support him in those directions. And though he is in a strong defensive position, we still outnumber his men."

"What about the east?" Count Noyon mused.

"Walloon territory is a few days' march to the east." Richemont observed. "Whether Walloon sends reinforcements or not, one thing is clear: even with this move, Gramont intends to play for time."

"He will not attack Tristania?" Beatrice mumbled over a mouth full of bread.

"He does not have enough men to attack the city and defend against an attack from us." Burgundy stated. "Gramont will wait. Wait for the Vallieres to help him, wait for us to run out of supplies now that we are cut off from Tristania, wait for reinforcements from Walloon. If we give battle, he will likely accept it, especially with the terrain advantage. But he will not seek battle himself."

"Well, if he won't seek battle, let's give it to him!" Count Burgundy declared. "We should attack Gramont immediately. We outnumber him, and with the will of Brimir should prevail, right?"

But the Duke of Richemont shook his head.

"It's too risky. We're up against Marshal Gramont, and he has the defensive advantage. We also don't know how long your father can hold any men coming from the south, and Walloon could attack from the east."

"Walloon couldn't attack a milkmaid's home." The Count of Marmont, a thin, reedy man scoffed. "That fat lump shouldn't worry us at all. Perhaps I might worry if Leopold commanded his men, but our spies report that the Duke has sent Leopold to speak with the Pope. What is Walloon thinking, sending a-"

"Getting hit by three armies should worry you, Marmont." Richemont coolly said. "It's not safe to attack Gramont. I would recommend that we retreat north. We'll be in territory friendlier to our cause, and should have a better chance of victory."

He picked up his fork and speared a piece of sizzling pork. He examined it for a moment, before his eyes turned to an empty chair in the tent.

"Are we sure that was the right decision?" He asked the gathered nobles.

"Of course it was." Beatrice sniffed. "I'm glad I won't have to see that stupid hat for a while. Or the Zero. So, what are we going to do with them now? Kill them both?"

"The Valliere girl may make a valuable hostage in the long run." Count Burgundy said. "Still, there's no need to rush. Let them stew for a bit until we reach a decision."

"I agree." Count Noyon rolled his eyes. "A ruler should show restraint, Lady von Guldenhorf. And Duke Richemont, you know perfectly well that Gramont was serious. He sent his own son Vincent here to deliver the message for a parley with General Bonaparte and Louise. They were to follow Vincent to speak with Marshal Gramont, and no one else was to accompany them."

"He took that blasted captain and the Valliere girl's servant with him." Richemont pointed out.

"Neither of them are nobles, they don't count. I don't know why you're fretting about the fact that none of us are accompanying those two. I'd much rather be in this tent than be out there in that wind."

"Hear, hear." Count Kundera exclaimed. "My old bones much too creaky to be outside. We can figure out General Bonaparte after we defeat Gramont."

"You take him too lightly, Kundera." Richemont said.

"And you take him too seriously, Richemont." Kundera said. "He is useful, yes? Like familiar should be. Then that is all that matters. Ven he is not useful, different problem, different solution."

…

…

Amidst the hills between the Gramont and Alliance, a group of five horsemen rode. Vincent de Gramont led the way. Napoleon and Louise followed him, and Stewart and Matilda behind him. Louise nudged her horse a little closer towards Napoleon.

"Are you worried about a trap?"

Napoleon shook his head.

"We are at a disadvantage, Louise. A man like Gramont would never set traps in such a situation. And if Gramont wanted to set an ambush, he wouldn't have insisted that none of the other nobles come. He could have captured them as well."

Louise nodded and said nothing more. That was good, Napoleon thought. He needed a moment to clear his head.

Eventually, the group arrived at the top of a hill. Marshal Gramont was there in his wheelchair. The old man wore no armor, but Robert was fully bedecked behind him. A group of servants and an empty litter were all that was with father and son. He nodded towards Vincent, and then turned towards Napoleon.

"General Bonaparte." He began. "I see you brought a bodyguard after all. I have no quarrel with your decision, but I must ask them to head down this hill."

"Why is that?"

"Because what I propose to discuss is so secret, so important, that I cannot have the slightest risk of a leak." Gramont said. "Not even my sons know why I intend to parley with you. I will send Vincent, Robert, and my servants along with your bodyguards. Do you accept?"

Napoleon turned towards Stewart and Matilda and nodded. Without a word, the two rode down the hill, followed by Gramont's men and sons. The old Marshal was left completely alone with Napoleon and Louise.

"So, what did you care to discuss?" Napoleon asked.

"A question first." Gramont said. "To Louise. Please, child, answer me truthfully."

"Y-yes?"

"Do you know why Her Majesty removed you from the Valliere family?"

"Her Majesty? Mother?"

Gramont nodded. Napoleon's eyes narrowed at this question. Louise shook her head.

"No." She stated. "I've never known why."

Gramont studied Louise's face for several long moments. He brought a finger to his mouth and bit it slightly. Eventually, he nodded and gave a grandfatherly smile.

"Very well." He finally said. "I believe you, child. Now we may talk without a problem. General Bonaparte, I am here to demand your surrender."

"Pardon me?" Napoleon laughed. "Is this some sort of a joke? You may have my army at a disadvantage, Marshal Gramont. But do you seriously think that a little bit of maneuvering is going to cause your enemies to collapse like a house of cards?"

"Well, I do expect the Alliance to collapse like a house of cards." Gramont said. "But you misunderstand, General Bonaparte. I am not here to demand the surrender of your army, or armies depending on how Guldenhorf and those other nobles are playing things. I am demanding your surrender. Yours and Louise's."

Napoleon said nothing for a long moment.

"You are serious." He finally said.

Gramont nodded.

"You know perfectly well what will happen if Louise and I surrender to you." Napoleon continued. "We will be both be executed by the Lady Valliere. Why should we surrender if we will die upon doing so?"

"Her Majesty would never kill her own daughter." Gramont said.

Napoleon snorted.

"Is this another joke? Lady Valliere would never kill her own daughter? I have seen her do it. She crossed the path of a church and attempted to lay hands on Louise. How can you say that she would never kill her?"

"That is just how Her Majesty is." Gramont shrugged. "Did she point her wand at Louise? Even if she did, did she actually cast a spell on her? I've known Her Majesty far longer then you have, General Bonaparte. She is a strong woman. Other nobles praise me all the time, but I am nothing compared to her. That said, she is not as firm as she thinks she is. If she was, she would have followed the law and given Cattleya or Eleanor the crown. But she placed it on her own head, to shield her daughters from the burden of ruling during a war. Her Majesty will never admit it in a thousand years, but she still loves Louise after all this time."

"She has an interesting way of showing her love." Napoleon sneered. "Forgive me if I do not share your confidence. Not to mention, you have yet to describe why she would not kill me. I will admit that she has never actually cast a spell on Louise. But she has attacked me."

"That is true." Marshal Gramont admitted. "But that brings me to the heart of this discussion. I want Her Majesty to end Louise's exile"

"W-what?" Louise shrieked. "Y-you mean…"

"I want you back in the Valliere family." Gramont turned to Louise. "You are Her Majesty's last healthy child. If you are lost, what will become of the long-term health of the dynasty? And all of the great Tristanian families have an exiled child, whether it is my Guiche, Walloon's Cartier, or Wardes's son. It is unfitting for the greatest Tristain family to exile a child, especially for some unknown reason."

"And how do you intend to persuade Lady Valliere to reaccept Louise?" Napoleon asked.

"By threatening to march my armies home if she does not." Gramont said. "As the Duke of Walloon is my longtime ally, I have no doubt he would do the same, as well as many lesser houses who respect the Gramont name. Child, I will swear by whatever you desire that I will return you to the Vallieres if you surrender to me. My life, my children's lives, the Gramont name, in the name of Brimir. Name your oath, and I solemnly vow to bring you back no matter the cost."

Louise's eyes widened at the prospect. But for Napoleon, a drop of sweat trickled down his brow, even while a cold wind blew on top of the hill.

"You have spun Louise a wonderful tale, Marshal Gramont." He said. "But why should I surrender? You have not guaranteed my life."

"You are Louise's familiar, are you not?" Gramont said. "I know the two of you call each other partners, and it is a wonderful thing to see the master-familiar bond work so well. But if Louise enters the Valliere family, then I guess you have to follow too. I would be more than willing to take a similar vow ensuring that your life is unharmed, General Bonaparte."

This was bad, Napoleon thought. This was very, very bad, a far worse threat than the irritated Alliance nobles back at the camp. If Louise returned to her family, she would undoubtedly ask her mother the reason for her exile. It would lead to a discussion about what had happened that night in Saxe-Gotha. If people started asking questions…

"We reject the terms, Marshal Gramont." Napoleon said. "There is no need for us to surrender to you."

"We, General Bonaparte? You may choose to reject the terms for yourself. But last I checked, you did not summon Louise. She has the right to choose her own path."

Gramont looked over at her.

"So what about you, child? Your partner has chosen to reject my terms. But you do not need to follow him. If you do choose to stay with General Bonaparte, I cannot guarantee your safety upon my victory. And even if General Bonaparte defeats me, what then? You will still be exiled. I can offer you a return to your family, something that Bonaparte can never offer. And who knows? Perhaps someday, you could be the Queen of Tristain, and rule justly and fairly. Just like your dear Henrietta."

_She will reject him,_ Napoleon thought to himself. _She knows better._

But Louise did nothing. She looked over at Napoleon, back to Gramont, and then back to Napoleon. For a long moment, she said absolutely nothing at all. But then she looked back at Gramont.

"It is a tempting offer, Marshal Gramont." She finally said. "But I need time to think on it. It is far too important of a decision for me to decide right here and now."

"I see." Gramont nodded. "But child, if you are to return to the Alliance camp, I am sure General Bonaparte will use every trick he knows to persuade you to follow him. I have appealed to your self-interest, Louise. Permit me to speak to your better nature."

"What do you mean?" Louise said.

"The longer this civil war drags on, the more people will die." Gramont said. "Men will be killed in battle, crops will be pillaged, and livestock will be slaughtered. I have never stolen, and will never steal from the people. But I cannot say the same about my enemies. And no death in the battlefield is as horrible as a farmer whose farm is pillaged and must starve to death with his children.

Furthermore, Tristain is a small country. The longer this war lasts, the weaker we shall become. The weaker Tristain becomes, the more inviting a target we are to Gallia, Germania, or possibly even another Albion invasion. War begets war which begets more war. If this war lasts, I fear that its chaos will spread across this entire continent.

I know of your power, Louise. Her Majesty has told me about it. But even with the power of Void, you are no match for her. If you fight with the Alliance, you will just prolong the war. Eventually, you will fight your mother the queen, and you will lose. I believe that Her Majesty will not kill you even then, but your stubbornness will cost countless lives, whether Tristanian or foreign. But if you join your mother, you can end this senseless war, and ensure that peace is brought to the land."

Napoleon heard the sound of footsteps. The two Gramont sons as well as their servants had returned. The servants lifted the Marshal into his littler, but he stuck his head out before they closed the door.

"I will be back here in two days, Louise. I do not know how General Bonaparte will persuade you to fight for him. But if he talks of glory or honor, ask yourself this. What honor could possibly be greater than bringing peace to Tristain? To Helgekinia?"

And with those words, the litter went on their way.

…

…

Napoleon was furious, Louise thought to herself.

It had been some hours since the meeting with Marshal Gramont. Napoleon had not said a single word to her on the way back to the Alliance camp. He had reported to the Alliance that Gramont had demanded terms of surrender which he had rejected, and the other nobles had accepted it without a word. They had dispersed shortly afterwards, and Napoleon had stalked off to organize and talk with the soldiers like he always did. Throughout this entire time, he still had not talked to her.

_What honor could possibly be greater than bringing peace to Tristain? _

Louise knew that Gramont did not know Napoleon all that well, but those words hit true. How had Napoleon persuaded her all this time? By promising her greatness, glory, and power. In their very first conversation back in the Academy, when he had declared himself to be an Emperor, what had he said?

"_You must have the power to be a truly great mage."_

He had been correct. She had come so far. But for what end had she become powerful? For greatness in and of itself? Or to save lives, like she had accomplished in her fight with Wardes back in Tristania?

But one possibility occurred to her, even when she was so uncertain of herself. Gramont had promised to return in two days. Napoleon no doubt was determined to find a way to defeat the Marshal. If he could not find a military option, then perhaps he just might…

She needed to make sure of his plans. So once the sun went down, she visited her partner's tent.

Napoleon sat at a desk alone. He was writing a letter, his quill scratching on the desk. He looked up at Louise momentarily, and then his eyes turned back to the letter.

"Louise." He said.

Louise breathed deeply. This meeting may very well be her final one with Napoleon, she thought to herself. If so, she had best get to the point.

"Napoleon. Do you intend to ambush Marshal Gramont in two days?"

Napoleon set aside the quill and put his hands together.

"I am surprised. The Louise who summoned me would have never even considered such a possibility. You have grown."

"Answer the question."

"No." Napoleon immediately replied. "I have no such plans for an ambush."

Louise frowned.

"Are you telling the truth or just trying to make me happy? You would pass on the chance of certain victory?"

"Certain victory?" Napoleon repeated. "Louise, ambushing Gramont would be certain defeat."

"What are you talking? You could attack Gramont, kill him, and take his sons hostage. That would effectively destroy his army, would it not?"

"Did Gramont say that his sons would be at this meeting?"

"W-well, no." Louise admitted. "But Robert at least is always with him."

"That's what Gramont is counting on me to think." Napoleon responded. "In fact, he will come alone. And while I have no way of knowing for sure, I think Gramont expects, and possibly hopes, that I ambush him. It is a trap within his first trap, when he tricked and marched around me.

Killing Marshal Gramont would accomplish nothing. It would not disorganize his army. Robert would just take command as the Marshal has planned for years. They would be incensed beyond measure at such a horrible betrayal and would be determined to get their revenge. And Louise, Gramont is not the only one who is attempting to turn his enemies to his side."

Louise steamed a bit at that statement.

"Are you talking about Robert?"

"Yes." Napoleon said. "I want Robert on my side, and there is no way that will happen if I treacherously kill his father. Furthermore, the rest of the Alliance nobles will no longer trust me if I murder a man as honorable as Gramont, and even the commoners will be upset – Gramont is well liked by even his enemies. I need support if we are to survive, Louise. To accomplish that, I must defeat Gramont, not kill him. And I need your help for that."

"My help?" Louise said. "You have not talked to me ever since we returned. Do you think I am just going to help you, Napoleon? Gramont is right about one thing. We are partners, which means that we are equals. You do not have the right to order me around, and sometimes I think you forget that."

"Are you actually considering joining Gramont?"

Did Napoleon actually never even consider that?!

"He made a good argument." She snapped. "Gramont claims that I can save lives if I join him. He was clearly not lying, so is he wrong? And if he is not wrong, Napoleon, why should we not join him? Is your pride worth that much?"

Napoleon said nothing at first. Louise's heart pounded in her chest for some reason. Why, she wondered to herself? Why was she so nervous for Napoleon's response? Gramont had said right before she left, that he would talk of honor and glory. Was that true? Was that all he wanted?

"You win, Louise."

"What? What does that mean?"

"I mean you win." Napoleon repeated. "I guess I might as talk about my real goal. You are my partner. As my partner, you deserve to know my real ambitions."

He reached below his desk and pulled out a map, flattening it out on his desk. There was nothing unusual about it, Louise thought. It was just an ordinary map of Helgekinia.

"Tell me, Louise." Napoleon asked. "What was Helgekinia like 2000 years ago?"

"2000 years ago?" Louise repeated. "I, I'm afraid I don't know. History was never my strong suit."

"True, there are very few books written of Helgekinian history back then." Napoleon observed. "But what I want to speak of is of my world. 2000 years ago, the world was in chaos. States fought one another in pointless wars, and the people suffered for it.

But then a great empire was formed, the greatest in the history of the world. Its armies, its legions, marched from the desert in the east to the sea in the west. The empire reigned for a thousand years, bringing peace to not just a single country, but to the entire world. When it fell, the world fell into chaos and darkness for another thousand years. And ever since that empire fell, the dream of reestablishing it has lived on in the hearts of king after king. All of them failed. I succeeded."

"You succeeded in conquering the world?" Louise asked.

"I told you a long time ago, did I not? I ruled the entire world. So I will make my intentions explicitly clear for you, Louise, in case you have not realized. I want to rule the world."

"You want to conquer all of Helgekinia?"

"Yes." Napoleon said. "But I want you to do it."

He sat back in his chair. Napoleon's eyes moved from the map to Louise.

"I will most likely not live to see all of Helgekinia united under one ruler, Louise. It took me thirty years to conquer the world, and I will not deny that Fortune smiled on me every now and then. I do not expect to live for another thirty years. So when I am gone, I want you to take up my place. You have the right bloodline for it. You have the power of the Void. And that is not all."

Napoleon broke off for a second, as if he anticipated Louise saying something to him. But she did not feel like speaking.

"Gramont mentioned that perhaps someday you might be a Queen. But it is one thing to be a Queen, Louise. It is another thing to be a good Queen. Matilda has taught you how to fight. I can teach you how to rule. And with that, you can save just not Tristania, but all of Helgekinia."

"People will die from this dream." Louise pointed out.

"Of course they will. People die all the time. The question is whether we can make their deaths meaningful. And what can do so better than ending all wars in this land?"

Her partner had a point, Louise thought. She had to admit it. But she couldn't help but go back to another conversation they had shared back when they were still in Tristania.

"You once asked me to become a Bonaparte." She said. "You still want me to choose, don't you? Between becoming a Bonaparte and becoming a Valliere?"

"You could say that." Napoleon said. "But think about the differences. If you choose the Vallieres, you will-"

"I refuse."

Louise spoke up. Napoleon instantly fell silent and stared at his partner.

"You refuse…whom?"

"I refuse to become a Bonaparte." Louise said. "But I will also refuse Gramont's offer."

She wasn't sure what to think about Napoleon's plans. To conquer Helgekinia? It was insane, crazy! How could her partner ever plan such a thing? How could she accomplish this?

But the more she thought to herself, the more she accepted it. It was a crazy plan, but Louise was not surprised in the slightest by what Napoleon had said. She must have known all along that was his ambition. Was it really the right thing to do?

She did not know. But what she did know was this. She did not want to just abandon him. She could hope to return to the Vallieres later, even if she did not accept Gramont's offer. But if she chose Gramont, that would be the end between Napoleon and herself. And as annoying and aggravating as he could be, he was still her partner. Partners did not just split up at the first sign of difficulty.

"I will stay here." She said. "Of course, I guess 'stay' isn't the right word. From what the nobles said when we returned, we will likely retreat north."

"We won't." Napoleon said. "With you here, Louise, I have a plan. A plan to not just survive, but win."

Louise could not help but grin. Her partner was facing one of the greatest generals in Tristain history and had already been completely outsmarted by that general. Multiple opposing armies were possibly converging on them, the Alliance nobles were irritated if not outraged that he had been tricked by Gramont, and her mother loomed in the distance.

And he still declared that he had a plan to win. Was it bravery, lunacy, or genius? Possibly all three? And if he was insane, what was she for going along with it?

"So, what is it?" She asked.

"Let's review what Gramont has done." Napoleon said. "He was originally stationed southeast of our men. Using his stupid magic tricks, he marched north and then west around our army, stationing his army on a series of hills between us and Tristania. By doing so, he has placed us in check. Without access to Tristania, he intends to restrict our flow of supplies, and wait for additional reinforcements. There are definitely soldiers coming from the southeast where he came from, and there might be soldiers coming from Walloon territory from the east. He likely intends to hit us from different directions when the time is ready."

Louise nodded, but she did not really understand what Napoleon was getting at.

"So, what are you saying?"

"That Gramont has made a mistake." Napoleon said. "One I intend to exploit, and which will be particularly relevant for him and no one else. And also, Louise…"

He reached for his sword and pulled it out of the scabbard. On his left hand, the Gandalfr runes glowed.

"I'd say it's high time I finally use this."

…

…

STOMP

A rat squealed in pain, writhing to escape the boot which pressed on its back. But the boot showed no mercy. It continued to press harder and harder onto the rat's body. Finally, with a last screech of pain, the rat popped like an overripe cherry. Blood spattered in all directions, including onto the dress of Karin Valliere.

"It's already ruined anyways." She muttered to herself.

Dead rats surrounded her in all directions, their corpses strewn all over the floor and furniture of the Wardes estate. It was not just in this room. After Wardes-Siesta had attacked her, he had fled down the hallways of his mansion. Karin had raced to pursue her, but at every turn, she had been harassed by the abominable creatures. Wardes must have sent hundreds, if not thousands of rats to attack and attempt to wear her down.

He better have a backup plan if that's the case, Karin thought to herself. It cost her practically no willpower to use her main spell, the Heavy Wind over and over. Whenever the rats surrounded her, a gust of razor blades sliced them into bits.

But there was little doubt Wardes had a plan. Karin went from room to room, kicking down doors and searching for the vanished master of the house. She wandered around aimlessly momentarily, and then calmed herself down. There was no point running around. Wardes would not just let Karin rampage, he would strike back. She had to be ready for whatever it was.

Karin kicked down the next door she came across, and stopped. She stood in a long hallway, with sunlight beaming through the windows. Wardes stood at the other end of the hallway. He held a wand in his right hand, but Karin did not recognize the object in his left. It looked like a pistol, but it was made of black metal. Karin had never seen anything like it, and she also noted that Lady was not with him.

"Wardes." She breathed. "Are you going to give-"

Karin then felt something dangerous. Without even fully understanding why, she jumped forward.

SMASH

Her judgment proved correct. Right where she had stood, two arms erupted from the ground. They were translucent and looked as if they were the arms of some ghost. A malicious grin on his face, Wardes raised his wand arm.

"Seven-pronged wall."

A wall of earth suddenly emerged between Wardes and Karin. It shot forwards towards Karin, and spikes of earth emerged to impale their enemy. Karin ran towards the wall, her wand glowing with energy.

"Heavy Wind!"

A blast of wind magic destroyed the wall of earth, breaking it into tiny pieces. Most of the windows in the hall shattered from the impact of Karin's spell. Glass scattered onto the floor, and a fragment cut into Karin's cheek. She paid no attention to the wound, turning to handle the ghostly hands that chased after her.

"Guh!"

But it was too late. Karin had been forced to leave herself open to stop Wardes's spell. She attempted to dodge the hands, but they seized her. One grasped her right wrist, where she held her wand. The other wrapped around her neck.

"Well, well, what is this? The great Heavy Wind taken down so easily?" Wardes chortled.

The hand around Karin's neck choked the breath out of her, preventing her from uttering any new spells. To any other mage, this would have been a fatal blow. But it was not so with Karin. She twisted her wand around and aimed it at the ghostly hand. Without uttering an incantation, she launched her favorite spell, the Heavy Wind, at the hands.

A blast of wind exploded in the hallway. Bits of wood and stone scattered as the hallway's walls were torn to bits. But the ghostly hands were entirely unaffected. Their grip grew stronger, and even Karin let out a sharp gasp of pain.

"Do you think I would bother using such a spell if your Heavy Wind could stop it?" Wardes chortled. "My, my, I thought you were smarter than that, Karin. Now, I have utterly no desire to kill you. That in fact would derail my plans. But I suppose if I just make you black out, you'll understand not to come back here."

The hand around Karin's neck tightened even further. A stream of drool dripped down her neck, and Karin looked around for a way to break this situation. Her eyes looked down at the ghostly hands, at how they were attached to the ground, and then she came to a realization.

The two ghostly hands had grasped Karin's right hand and neck, but her left hand remained free. Karin used her left hand to grab the wand out of her right hand and pointed it at the ground.

BOOM

The ground exploded with the force of the Heavy Wind, and the hands instantly vanished into nothing. Karin dropped onto one knee and looked up at Wardes. With a grimace on his face, he whipped out his own wand…

But it was too late. Karin still did not have the air needed to cast a spell aside from the Heavy Wind, but it was all she needed. Another blast roared down on Wardes, and before he could protect himself, his wand-arm flew off the rest of his body.

"Ah...AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Wardes-Siesta roared in pain, but Karin did not press her attack. She stopped for a moment, disturbed by what was dribbling out of Wardes's body. It was not blood. It was black and viscous, like honey. Wardes looked at his missing arm and then turned towards Karin, a snarl on his face.

"HOW DARE YOU!"

He pointed the pistol and fired, but Karin was prepared for that. She conjured up a shield of wind and watched as the bullet bounced off. But that was also strange, she thought to herself. Karin was no stranger to fighting gunmen, but that bullet's impact was far lighter than any other pistol or musket she had seen.

Wardes dropped the pistol on the ground and fell to his knees. His remaining left arm clutched his wound. Karin disengaged her shield and walked towards him.

"So, are you ready to talk?" She declared, her wand pointed at Wardes. "What is your goal? Why are you helping Guldenhorf? Why did you possess that girl, and how did you even accomplish it? I want the truth, Wardes!"

"The truth? Wardes gasped. "What is the truth? Do you think that truth exists at all in this world, Karin? Do you think that you, with your wonderful magic and powerful family and your claim to the throne, can ever comprehend what truth is?"

"I am not here for mind games."

"And neither am I. So I will tell you this, Karin. I study magic for magic's sake. And to do that, I want conditions which are the best for studying magic. If that means war, so be it."

Karin's eyes widened.

"You _wanted_ a civil war?"

"I wanted a war." Wardes said. "A war is the only way I have a chance of improving my magic in the way that I want. I thought the Albion war would be sufficient to obtain my magical goals, but it ended faster than I had hoped. So I supported Guldenhorf not because I care about who rules this irrelevant kingdom. I did it because I knew Guldenhorf would back down if none of the other major families supported him, and I did not want that."

"And how is a war going to improve your magic?" Karin demanded.

At this, Wardes's lips hardened. Karin prepared to blast him again with the Heavy Wind, but then her senses again kicked into overdrive. Even without understanding why, she instantly focused on a defensive spell.

As she did so, Wardes rolled forward. With his left arm, he grabbed the pistol which he had dropped and pointed it at Karin.

_The pistol? _Karin thought to herself. Wardes had already shot that pistol, why was he going to grab it now?

But Wardes did not hesitate. He finished his roll and then aimed the pistol at Karin. Realizing that he was somehow going to shoot, Karin recast her magic shield…

CRASH!

But there was never any need to. Her manticore crashed through the remaining hallway windows with a loud roar. Wardes turned in desperation, but it was too late. The great beast opened its mouth and ripped off his other arm.

Wardes screamed through the pain and jumped away from Karin's familiar. The pistol slid through the air and landed at Karin's feet. She knelt down to pick it up and then looked over at Wardes, more of the black liquid dripping from his body.

"This pistol can shoot more than one bullet?" She asked.

Wardes said nothing. But with both of his arms gone, and with her manticore standing over him, Karin no longer had any reason to fear him. She pointed the gun outside the shattered windows and pulled the trigger.

BANG.

The gun shot again, but nothing changed about it. Karin decided to pull the trigger again.

BANG

And again.

BANG

The pistol kept firing over and over again every time Karin pulled the trigger. After about ten or so shots, Karin wondered to herself whether this was a magical pistol that could somehow fire indefinitely. But shortly afterwards, the top part of the pistol suddenly slid back. When Karin pulled the trigger again, nothing happened.

"15 shots." She muttered to herself. "Where did you get a pistol that can shoot 15 times?"

Even without his arms, and Karin's manticore staring him down, Wardes said nothing. Karin dropped the pistol onto the ground, and then walked towards Wardes once again. But then, a great rumbling noise could be heard from within the mansion.

"What the-"

CRASH

Karin's manticore had smashed the windows of the hallway, but the now-ruined hallway was smashed even further as something…massive emerged. It was the head of a white rat with red eyes. Karin could only see the head – but while her manticore was a little longer than she was tall, the head of this beast was as big as the two put together. But despite the difference in size, Karin knew instantly what this thing was.

"Lady?!"

The rat sniffed at being called by its name. It then opened its mouth and swallowed Wardes whole. Then with a poof of smoke, it suddenly transformed into its normal size and fled down the hallway.

"Wait!"

Karin ran forward, but it was too late. Amidst the wreckage of this hallway and the Wardes mansion, there was no way she could track down a single rat. She looked towards the manticore, hoping that it sense of smell might help. But the creature shook its head and howled in dismay.

"Tch." She said.

The visit to Wardes's estate had been a failure, she thought to herself. She had come looking for answers, looking to understand the reasons for Wardes's actions. But while she had received some answers, it was not nearly enough. What did Wardes seek to gain by starting a civil war, she thought to herself? Was she working for a foreign agent, perhaps? He had discussed how he wanted to deal with King Joseph "alone"? How did he intend to do that? Who knows if he was even telling the truth?

Her manticore whined and nuzzled Karin, and she patted its head. As she did so, another thought came to her.

"The basement." She muttered to herself.

She had been to Wardes's estate many times in the past. From those visits, she knew that Wardes conducted most of his experiments in a basement underground. She had never been there herself, but she did know where the basement was located in this mansion. Because Wardes knew she knew, she doubted he would have fled there. But she might discover something of his plans in the meantime.

She stowed the strange pistol on her and signaled her manticore to follow. After walking through broken glass and dead rats, she found the door to the basement. She opened it and headed down.

Karin had her wand ready for any magical defenses, but nothing disturbed her in her long walk down. Eventually, she reached the bottom of the stairs and looked out at what she saw.

The manticore growled, and Karin's lips tightened in response to the sight below her. She muttered a few words, and her wand began to glow with magical energy.

…

…

Author's Note:

In general, I don't like commentating on my own chapters, as I believe the work should stand and fall on its own merit. But there is something I would like to observe.

I select my quotes at the beginning of each chapter to be relevant to some of the key ideas in the chapter itself. But it is particularly so for this one.


End file.
